A panther sprang at the feet

Of the young deer in the gray wood. 

It was the lady who had sworn

To love him,

That rose, wraithlike

From the flow of his blood.

He swooned with her devotions.

There was never one 

More jolly and boyish

Than he was, in the great beginning.

Once his slippers were fastened

With domesticity,

He settled down

Like a worn jaguar

Weary with staring through bars.

The caresses that were poured

Over his person

Staled on him. 

Love had grown rancid.

Have you emptied the garbage

John?

Prometheus fire

Never can worship

The smell of hams and hocks

Issuing from the smokehouse.

The odours of the street

Hold enticements

That bear entertaining. 

There is at least

The tincture of virility

Present.

I have taken scales from off
The cheeks of the moon.
I have made fins from bluejays’ wings,
I have made eyes from damsons in the shadow.
I have taken flushes from the peachlips in the sun.
From all these I have made a fish of heaven for you,
Set it swimming on a young October sky.
I sit on the bank of the stream and watch
The grasses in amazement
As they turn to ashy gold.
Are the fishes from the rainbow
Still beautiful to you,
For whom they are made,
For whom I have set them,
Swimming?

If a mouse makes a nest

Of one's written words,

Is there else to do but accept

The flattery?

I have deemed it wise to do so.

I have thanked him

Sufficiently

As he scurried in and out

Of the room.

He has faced wither

With a nest of my words.

I did not suspect them

Of such worth against the cold.

If a mouse makes a nest

Of one's written words,

Is there else to do but accept

The flattery?

I have deemed it wise to do so.

I have thanked him

Sufficiently

As he scurried in and out

Of the room.

He has faced wither

With a nest of my words.

I did not suspect them

Of such worth against the cold.