Poetry Archives

Clerks.

We have shut the doors behind us, and the velvet flowers of night
Lean about us scattering their pollen grains of golden light.

Now at last we lift our faces, and our faces come aflower
To the night that takes us willing, liberates us to the hour.

Now at last the ink and dudgeon passes from our fervent eyes
And out of the chambered weariness wanders a spirit abroad on its enterprise.

  Not too near and not too far
  Out of the stress of the crowd
  Music screams as elephants scream
  When they lift their trunks and scream aloud
  For joy of the night when masters are
      Asleep and adream.

  So here I hide in the Shalimar
  With a wanton princess slender and proud,
  And we swoon with kisses, swoon till we seem
  Two streaming peacocks gone in a cloud
  Of golden dust, with star after star
      On our stream.