Classic Poem

1

Last night in a land of triangles,
I lay in a cubicle, where
A girl in pyjamas and bangles
Slept with her hands in my hair.

2

I wondered if either or neither
Of us were properly there,
Being subject to queer aberrations —
Astral and thin aberrations —
Which leave me no base to compare:
No adequate base to compare:
But her hands, with their wristful of bangles,
Were certainly fast in my hair,
While the moon made pallid equations
Thro' a delicate window there.

3

I was glad that she slept for I never
Can tell what the finish will be:
What enamoured, nocturnal endeavor
May end in the killing of me:
But, in the moonlit obscure
Of that silken, somniferous lair,
Like a poet consumed with a far lust
Of things unapproachably fair
I fancied her body of stardust —
Pounded of spices and stardust —
Out of the opulent air.

4

Then the moon, with its pale liquidations,
Fell across her in argentine bars,
And I thought: This is fine — but to-morrow
What cut of Dawn's cold scimitars
Will sever my hold on this creature —
I mean of this creature on me?
Amorous creature of exquisite aura —
Marvel of dark glamourie.

5

What joy of folly then followed
Is beyond my expression in rhyme:
And I do not expect you to grasp it
When I speak of expansions of time:
Of reaching and zooming serenely
As it were at right angles to time:
Knowing well you will think, on your level,
This was only a dream indiscreet —
Or experience quite indiscreet:
But little I care, in this instance,
What you do or do not think discreet:
O utterance futile, but sweet,
Like a parrot I pause and repeat,
In delight of my own, and for nothing,
To myself I repeat and repeat:

6

Last night in a land of triangles,
I lay in a cubicle where
A girl in pyjamas and bangles
Slept with her hands in my hair.