th a malignant growl, satirical,
To curve in foliations prodigal
Round and around his face,
Extending till the echoes interlace
With Pride and Prudence, two cranes, gaunt and tall.

Four lesser lions crouch and malign the cranes,
Cursing and gossiping they shake their manes
While from their long tongues leak
Drops of thin venom as they speak.
The cranes, unmoved, peck grapes and grains
From a huge cornucopia, which rains
A plenteous meal from its antique
Interior (a note quite curiously Greek).

And nine long serpents twist
And twine, twist and twine,
A riotously beautiful design
Whose elements consist
Of eloquent spirals, fair and fine,
Embracing cranes and lions, who exist
Seemingly free, yet tangled in that living vine.

And in this chest shall be
Two cubic meters of space
Enough to hold all memory
Of you and me--
And this shall be the place
Where silence shall embrace
Our bodies, and obliterate the trace
Our souls made on the purity
Of night...
Now lock the chest, for we
Are dead, and lose the key!

The Pedlar

Hark, people, to the cry
Of this curious young magician-pedlar
Seeking a golden bowl!

He wanders through the city
Offering useful tin-ware
For all the ancient metal
You have left to rust
In the dim, dusty attic
Or mouldy cellar
Of your soul.

He refuses nothing--
Rusty nails
Which may have played their part
In a crucifixion--
For ten of these he will give
A new tin spoon.

The andirons
Once guarding hearth-fires of content,
Now dusty and forgotten
In an obscure corner,
He will give for these
A new tin tea-kettle
With a wooden handle.

And for this antique bowl
Fashioned to hold
Roses or wine?

The eyes of the pedlar glisten!
O woman, if acid reveal
Gold beneath the tarnished surface
He will gladly give you
His hands, his eyes, his soul,
His young, white body--

If not,
A mocking laugh
And a bright tin sieve
To hold your wine
And roses.

Portrait of a Lady in Bed

I. THE COVERLET

My cowardice
Covers me safely
From everything...

From cold, which makes me yield
And quietly die
Beneath the snow;

From heat, which makes me faint
Until cool nothingness receives me;

From hurt, (Seize me, O Lion,
And I shall die of fright
Before I feel your teeth!)

From love,
Yes, most of all from love