Consider, metaphysical my heart, 
the blood of birth and dying: when between
dark hemispheres, that cannot soothe or hurt
the crying flesh, lie virgin or outworn
two immortalities composed in one.

Our fathers' passion, fearing the power that lay
in stones or the green lion of the trees,
turns through our lips; and there the unborn lie
and the forgotten beast within us roars
to his mate, tramples to-morrow's rose.

You then my love, time's and blood's islander
- because we fear the unicorn - lie down
as powerless as they.  For the tides dare,
the tides do, all that our dreams have done:
endless perfection, heart, locked and curved in.