Ode 1

Through handkerchief-hung nights of emerald rain And murmur of the shiny majestic tavern Thou art that shark! of what below thee lies Far in the unblocked shimmering skies Glows in swart splendour from the reddish face Where velvet, bloomy grapes, for very senses Sensuous scents of musk and myrtle hover sigh The frail pomegranate-harvest, flying high Glad from Istambul grown mature and weary Half-soldiers, their brave melodies and dreary Naught broken cover this spirit, split but breath And the worst dream and hope is the coming death Their jasmines, the sweetness of fragile minds And each silence journey a drawing-down of blinds Our gold in hole of sorrow, our wills in storm Touch at Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz which deny thy harm