Hyde park at night, before the war

by


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.


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