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1 июня 2017 г., 09:26
Lines to Music
Ride out at midnight,
You will meet your sun.
Into what arsenal now seem fallen
The germs of the plum and the peppercorn?
The born and the unborn will report
What poison licks the wheat,
Or in the melon's gold retort
Repeat what melody fattens the leopard
From his mother's dusky teat.
Ride out at midnight
And number the sparrows.
Who put great wings to the Ark?
Who gave the unicorn spurs?
Only the women with thighs like mackerel,
Nourish the germ of the man of sorrows,
Are true to their monsters.
Be you to yours.
