Now, as I sink in sleep, My heart is cut down, Nothing—poetry nor love— Achieving.
Turns again in my room, The crippled leopard. Paw-pad, configured Yellow light of his eyes, Pass, repass, repass. Quiet, my hand; he is tame. Soon, while I dream, will step And stir the sunken dawn.
Before I woke there entered in A woman with a golden skin That tangled with the light. A tang of orchards climbed the stair And dwindled in the waxen air, Crisping the midnight, And the white pillows of my bed On apple-tasted darkness fed. Weakened with appetite Sleep broke like a dish wherein A woman lay with golden skin.