(伊丽莎白·毕晓普)诺第留斯岛的隐居女继承人仍然在她的斯巴达小屋里过冬;她的羊还在海面上吃草。她儿子是主教。她的农民是我们村的第一委员;她年事已高。渴望维多利亚女王时代的等级森严的隐私，她买下了所有面对她海岸的刺眼的东西，让它们掉下来。这个季节很糟糕——我们失去了我们的夏季百万富翁，他似乎是从L. L. Bean的目录中跳出来的。他的九节游艇被拍卖给了捕龙虾的人。蓝山布满了红狐的污点。现在我们的精灵装饰师为秋天装点了他的店铺; his fishnet's filled with orange cork, orange, his cobbler's bench and awl; there is no money in his work, he'd rather marry. One dark night, my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull; I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down, they lay together, hull to hull, where the graveyard shelves on the town.... My mind's not right. A car radio bleats, "Love, O careless Love...." I hear my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell, as if my hand were at its throat... I myself am hell; nobody's here-- only skunks, that search in the moonlight for a bite to eat. They march on their solves up Main Street: white stripes, moonstruck eyes'red fire under the chalk-dry and spar spire of the Trinitarian Church. I stand on top of our back steps and breathe the rich air-- a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail. She jabs her wedge-head in a cup of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail, and will not scare.