1.

         Today in the garden
a peacock spread his tail,
         sprung rake of whalebone
corset stays, balding scribble

         of lapis lazuli.
Across the granite curb,
         preposterous beauty
began once more to absorb

         itself in itself,
swayed by and hoisted
         its tent above
your small gold head,

         and amour-propre
opened its slow fan,
         defying the air
for a count of ten.

         In the arrogant quiet,
that screen of aqua
         played with the fright
and the rapture

         in your eyes, then shivered,
poplar fashion,
         and indolently folded
its starry vanes.

          2.

Child, how shall I teach
        your hundred eyes to sleep,
                in which the bird is figured
                          as on an engraved gem
                or a Christian tomb,
        its flesh through centuries
thought incorruptible?

Still they blink and watch!
        Is it the scream of peacocks
                through palm and ancient ilex
                          by which you are pursued,
                through the complicated air
        and smell of oleander,
the yell and mew of longing,

into the lapis tabernacle
        of your oblivion?
                Now they begin to droop
                          deliciously and swim,
                as mundane emerald
        contrives to fan the brow
where sleep is building now.