THE POET AT BAY 
127 
 
Life was, and laughter.  Take the odds 
Offered us by the gambling gods !   
 
I saw a painted dancing-girl 
Writhe, jerk, shake, snap her fingers, curl 
Her lips into a lecherous leer 
All night for sixpence and her beer. 
I met her eyes.  We knew each other, 
In God’s womb sister and twin brother !   
She blazed.  Each belly-twitch set swinging 
The censers of the stars, set singing 
The myriad choirs of cherubim. 
All nature dived from sense, to swim 
In that past-space past-period 
Infinite ocean that is God. 
 
Such luck be yours !  You cannot tell 
The pulse that makes my forehead swell. 
You see me walk in clubs, not cloisters ;   
Eat not ambrosia, but oysters. 
Nor shall it all avail you, though 
You eat your heart for lust to know, 
To watch these sparks of verse I throw 
Cold ere they flame !  For they attest  
The anvil’s ring, the hammer’s zest, 
The white-hot rage of steel, that is 
My soul exulting in God’s kiss 
The hammer, and the anvil life. . . . 
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Go, and explain it to your wife !