ESCAPE.

I seek the quietude of stones

Or of great oxen, dewlap-deep

In meadows of lush grass, where sleep

Drifts, tufted, on the air or drones

On flowery traffic. Sleep atones

For sin, comforting eyes that weep.

O'er me, Lethean darkness, creep

Unfelt as tides through dead men's bones!

In that metallic sea of hair,

Fragrance! I come to drown despair

Of wings in dark forgetfulness.

No love... Love is self-known, aspires

To heights unearthly. I ask less,—

Sleep born of satisfied desires.