The peacock and the mocking-bird Cry forever in her breast; Public libraries have blurred The pages of his palimpsest. He wanders lonely as a cloud In chevelure of curled perruque; Masked assassins in a crowd Strangle the uxorious duke. Castilian facing Lucifer, Juan does not remove his cap; Unswaddled infantile to her His soul lies kicking in her lap. While she, transported by the wind, Mercutio has clasped and kissed. . . . Like quicksilver, her absent mind Evades them both, and is not missed. |