In Piccadi

By Isaac Rosenberg

Lamp-lit faces, to you
What is your starry dew ?
Gold flowers of the night blue !

Deep in wet pavement's slime
Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,
To bloom in lust's coloured clime.

The sheen of eyes that lust,
Which dew-time made your trust,
Lights your passionless dust.
Sunday, March 3rd, 2024