I send you three grey cats with gifts—­
(For uniformity of metaphor,
Since Bacchus, Satan, and the Hangman
Are not contemporaneous in my mythology)
I send you three grey cats with gifts,
Queen Guinevere,
To warn you, sleekly, silently
To pay the forfeit.

Ode in the New Mode

Your face
Was a temple
From which your soul
Came to me beneath arched brows: 
And my soul knelt at your feet.

Then
Inadvertently
I saw your leg
Curved and turned like a bird-song
Dying into ecstatic silence at the garter...

Wretched
Women! 
When you are wholly lovely
Man cannot forget either of his two afflictions,
Soul, or body!

Night

I opened the door
And night stared at me like a fool,
Heavy dull night, clouded and safe—­
I turned again toward the uncertainties
Of life within doors.

Once night was a lion,
No, years ago, night was a python
Weaving designs against space
With undulations of his being—­
Night was a siren once.

O sodden, middle-aged night!