"THE GRECIAN TULIP AND THE GOTHIC ROSE..."

The grecian tulip and the gothic rose
flower to deceive us; limbs age with fruits;
the man who marks the boneyard with a cross
reaps poppies; human flesh plucks down the roots
of the barley.  The greyhound with the kind
sensitive head and the soft eyes, goes blind
or mad; dies.  The wind means all it cries.
Love, it is time we listened to that wind.

Who cranes an arm to wait for the white body,
death, polishing old philosophies,
gives the grave scarves woven of our beauty.
Beasts are passive as growing rings of trees;
perfected process lacking hope or thought,
tulip-limbs, or the white rose in the throat.
To die as those die, live as the lion knows
- love, it is time we found that secret out.