"You are too candid," cried the candid man.
And when his stick left the head of the
learned bystander
It was two sticks.




You tell me this is God?
I tell you this is a printed list,
A burning candle and an ass.




On the desert
A silence from the moon's deepest
valley.
Fire rays fall athwart the robes
Of hooded men, squat and dumb.
Before them, a woman
Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles
And distant thunder of drums,
While mystic things, sinuous, dull with
terrible color,
Sleepily fondle her body
Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over
the sand.
The snakes whisper softly;