What the eye delights in, no longer dictates
My greed to enjoy: boys, grass, the fenced-off deer.
It leaves those figures that distantly play
On the horizon's rim: they sign their peace, in games.
What is put away, stays removed: music which taps
The soft drums of the ear, I do not sleep with
Though whispering through my blood. Why should faces I pass,
Lights under evening trees, bewilder the breath
Which is a noteless, perpetual engine? Make mind reconsider
There was a wood,
Habitation of foxes and fleshy burrows,
Where I learnt to uncast my childhood, and not alone,
I learnt, not alone. There were four hands, four eyes,
A third mouth of the dark to kiss. Two people
And a third not either: and both double, yet different.
I entered with myself. I left with a woman.
Good-bye now, good-bye: to the early and sad hills
Dazed with their houses, like a faint migraine.