He smiles in a mirror, shrinking the whole
Sun-swung zodiac of light to a trinket shape
   On the rise of his eye: it is a role

   In which he can fling a cape,
And outloom like like Faustus. But once when
   On an empty mountain slope

   A black goat clattered and ran
Towards him, and set forefeet firm on a rock
   Above and looked down

   A square pupilled yellow-eyed look
The black devil head against the blue air,
   What gigantic fingers took

   Him up and on a bare
Palm turned him close under an eye
   That was like a living hanging hemisphere

   And watched his blood’s gleam with a ray
Slow and cold and ferocious as a star
   Till the goats clattered away.