Sick with heat, those worms
Drop down scorched and overfed--
No more need of germs!
Let them go.


V

Yes, but you now, look,
You, the rouged stage female
With a crook,
Chalked Arcadian sham,
You that made my soul's sleep's dream ail--
Your soul fit to damn?
Shut the book.




III

ON THE SANDS


I

There was nothing at all in the case (conceive)
But love; being love, it was not (understand)
Such a thing as the years let fall (believe)
Like the rope's coil dropt from a fisherman's hand