And where, friend Quo, lay you hiding
Across malignant half my years or so?
One evil faery
It was workt night, with amoroso pleasing
Menace, the panes shake
Where Lie-by-the-fire is waiting for his cream.
A tiger by a torrent in rain, wind,
Narrows fiend’s eyes for grief
In an old ink-on-silk,
Reminding me of Delphi, and,
Friend Quo, once was safe
Imagination as sweet milk.
Let all the flowers wither like a party.
And now you have abandoned
Own your young & old, the oldest, people
To a solitudinem of mournful communes,
Status, Status, come home.