Red Stains

In a pyloned desert where the scorpion reigns

My love and I plucked poppies breathing tales

Of crimes now long asleep, whose once–red stains

Dyed stabbing men, at sea with bloody sails.

The golden sand drowsed. There a dog yelped loud;

And in his cry rattled a hollow note

Of deep uncanny knowledge of that crowd

That loved and bled in winy times remote.

The poppies fainted when the moon came wide;

The cur lay still. Our passionate review

Of red wise folly dreamed on . . . She by my side

Stared at the Moon; and then I knew he knew.

       And then he smiled at her; to him ’twas funny—

       Her calm steel eyes, her earth–old throat of honey!