"SIR. YOU AND I HAVE LOVED"
Ultimately spun to sleep's cocoon, clings fine,
Like peach surrounding stone; and the dream,
The eater by night, stuffs itself on the sweet
Yellow of your love-bred fruit whose bare seed
Dawn begins to dry for next night's burial by you,
Oh Tender of a branch that hangs such succulence!
Cue for the loved one, in whom all ends:
I, as do midst dunes frowning disapproval
Dwellers of the green deep down oasis
Live, do live to live intensely rooted
Through to the liquor such praise is:
Rare rain refined by the long descent to rock,
Through sands that scrub it clean as it fell
From the cloud of a swept desert sky,
From the white of an eye moted to cry
By the sea-wind the jagged mountains comb
Of dying strands, comb wild as dervish hair
That cuts where it swings the dust danced up
By such king's feet as mine.
55
