Classic Poem

I like it now. It's not hard on the eyes.
It's soft, it's blue and green and it's pale green
And pale blue. And it's cool and quiet.
It's quiet even if the children are chatting,
Even if the boys are whistling, even if the girls are giggling.
It's cool, it's quiet. The fountain splashes and I can hear it
But it seems quiet. It's quiet in the flowerpots and the flower-boxes,
In the trees, in the creeping vines of the balconies,
And in the click of the roll of the balls the men play
Their games with; and in the black in the open windows
The marigolds have stopped laughing and the green leaves
Have the chill of ice. Across the street is an open
Window filled with amber light, and something dances in it
Like something in a glass of champagne.
The street lights are lit now, soft and lazy as illumined caterpillars
And a pair of blue overalls drying on a line
Nudges a tiny red tablecloth.
It's quiet now, and cool.