on my door
variation of gold
the early sun has brushed
in islands movable
with sheen of summer sailed
whose warmth prefigured is so unlike
any sumptuous illusion mingled with me:
would that I were as luminous in detention
or as copious and supple in retreat of mood!
then might I stir (fleet) at your careless invite
that to my unprophetic shade commends ever
the chance lying awake without strife or tenet
parsing me some dream’s reserve to invigilate
or my share of celestial charm to rouse and seal
all so I'd forgive you this too breezy intrusion
upon the black burning water of my cloud…