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Poem	A roaring company that festive night; The beast of dialectic dragged his chains, Prowling from chair to chair is the smoking light, While the snow hissed against the windowpanes. Our politics, our science, and our faith Were whiskey on the tongue; I, being rent By the fierce divisions of our time, cried death And death again, and my own dying meant. Out of her secret life, the griffin-land Where ivory empires build their stage she came, Putting in mine her small impulsive hand, Five-fingered gift, and the palm not tame. The moment clanged: beauty and terror danced Tot he wild vibration of a sister-bell, Whose unremitting stroke discountenanced The marvel that the mirrors blazed to tell. A darker image took this fairer form Who once, in the purgatory of my pride, When innocence betrayed me in a room Of mocking elders, swept handsome to my side, Until we rose together, arm in arm, And fled together back into the world. What brought her now, in the semblance of the warm, Out of cold spaces, damned by colder blood? That furied woman did me grievous wrong, But does it matter much, given our years? We learn, as the thread plays out, that we belong Less to what flatters us than to what scars; So, freshly turning, as the turn condones, For her I killed the propitiatory bird, Kissing her down. Peace to her bitter bones, Who taught me the serpent's word, but yet the word.
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