Now the garlanded earth clasps
the golden streamers of her pole;
the planets like a peal of bells
swing lofty for heart's holiday.
Now in tingling hours like wasps,
fierce as the tiger's flaming skin,
earth and her companions sway
naked Salome to the sun.

Oh but there's thunder in this light,
and all the after midnight when
beneath the groaning of the Wain
the cocks crow at the seventh flash
because the moon rises late. 
Then fear leaves no dark thing undone
- horrors that strain the velvet leash
- nor any hound whistled in.

But holiday shall bring the Ram
into the Scorpion's house of life,
teach the bright-feathered sun to live
till the malevolence begins.
The world and we pour into flame
a flesh that mocks the running air,
a spirit that is bells and suns,
a day that rocks the dancing spire.