Good afternoon team,

At the end of a long week, what could be nicer than a lovely long bath? Nothing, according to both me and Imagiste poet Amy Lowell:

Bath

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.

       The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.

       Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

Here's more about Amy (sounds like she earned that bath):

A flamboyant woman whose behavior belied her upbringing in a proper and prestigious New England family, she flouted convention with her proto-feminist poetry and unabashedly public persona. “Poet, propagandist, lecturer, translator, biographer, critic … her verve is almost as remarkable as her verse”

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/amy-lowell

Love,

Alex.