Of darkness thrown
May hear it in the dusk--
That ancient tone,
Silvery as the light
Of long dead stars
Yet falling through the night
In trembling bars.

A WORN ROSE

Where to-day would a dainty buyer
Imbibe your scented juice,
Pale ruin with a heart of fire;
Drain your succulence with her lips,
Grown sapless from much use...
Make minister of her desire
A chalice cup where no bee sips--
Where no wasp wanders in?

Close to her white flesh housed an hour,
One held you... her spent form
Drew on yours for its wasted dower--
What favour could she do you more?
Yet, of all who drink therein,
None know it is the warm
Odorous heart of a ravished flower
Tingles so in her mouth's red core...

IRON WINE