The ghost of the perfume hid in her hair arose
And shook dark wealth from its robes and possessed the daytime.
Like a scented tree of Egypt it burgeoned above,
For a space of quiet like myrrh, for the flash of a feather....
They were still, who had seen the dead, happy face of Love ...
—And the smells of the onions trooped up the stairs together.
BLOOD BROTHERS
The blunt snouts of a dozen worms or so
Were busy at the thing that had worn clothes,
As conscientious as a lot of clowns