Oh! To Be A Flower Nodding In

A Black Cat Among Roses, Phlox, Lilac-misted Under A Quarter Moon, The Sweet Smells Of Heliotrope And Night-scented Stock. The Garden Is Very Still. It Is Dazed With Moonlight, Contented With Perfume.

Freighted With Hope, Crimsoned With Joy, We Scatter The Leaves Of Our Opening Rose.

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.

I Shall Go Up And Down In My Gown. Gorgeously Arrayed, Boned And Stayed.

Hate Is Ravening Vulture Beaks Descending On A Place Of Skulls.