The Embankment

T. E. Hulme

(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)

Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,

In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.

Now see I

That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.

Oh, god, make small

The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,

That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.

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