Last night I fled until I
To streets where leaking casements
Stale lamplight from the corpse of flame;
A nervous window bled.
The moon swagged in the air.
Out of the mist a girl
Spittle of song; a hoarse
Spattered the fog with heavy hair.
Damp bells in a remote
Sharply released the throat of God,
I leaned to the erect
Dead as stiff turf in winter sod.
Then with the careless
Of a dream, the forward
Of a cold particular
In the headlong hearse.
