Stars wept rose at the heart of your ears,
Infinity rolled white from your nape to your loins;
Ocean pearled russet on your vermeiled teats,
And Man bled black on your sovereign flank.

Gallant feast

Scapino unaware
Scratches a hare
Under his mac.

Columbine
—Who never whines!—
—Do mi—pats

The eye of the hare
Which soon, the whore,
Is utterly rapt.

Tear

Far from birds, flocks and village girls,
I drank on my haunches some heather amid,
Ringed by tender hazel woods,
In afternoon fog green and tepid.

What could I drink in that young Oise,
Elms and lawn sans flower sans voice, sky cloudy?
What draw from the gourd of the colocasia?
Some golden flat liquor, that makes you sweaty.

Thus, a poor inn-signboard I'd have made.
Then a storm changed the sky unto nightfall.
Those were dark lands, lakes, staves,
Colonnades under blue night, railroad terminals.

Water disappeared from the woods on sands virgin.
The wind of heaven made every pond a rink...
Now! like a fisher of gold or seashells,
To say I had no care to drink!

Drunken Coachman

Bugbear
Guzzles:
Nacre
Ogles:

Acrid
Law,
Fiacre
Falls!

Woman
Down,
Loin
Runs:
Moans.
Clamors!