For Caroline
Christ has been done to death
in the cold reaches of northern Europe
a thousand thousand times.
Suddenly bread
and cheese appear on a plate
beside a gleaming pewter beaker of beer.
Now tell me that the Holy Ghost
does not reside in the play of light
on cutlery！
A Woman makes lace，
with a moist-eyed spaniel lying
at her small shapely feet.
Even the maid with the chamber pot
is here； the naughty， red-cheeked girl. . . .
And the merchant's wife， still
in her yellow dressing gown
at noon， dips her quill into India ink
with an air of cautious pleasure.