Eclogue by a Five-barred Gate

Well, I dreamt it was a hot day, the territorials

Were out on melting asphalt under the howitzers,

The brass music bounced on the houses. Come

I heard cry as it were a water-nymph, come and fulfil me

And I sped floating, my feet plashing in the tops of the wheat

But my eyes were blind,

I found her with my hands lying on the drying hay,

Wet heat in the deeps of the hay, as my hand delved,

And I possessed her, gross and good like the hay,

And she went and my eyes regained sight and the sky was full of ladders

Angels ascending and descending with a shine like mackerel---

Now I come to tell it it sounds nonsense.