O My Coleridge, O My Cinnamon
The blade of that scullery maid
Upbraided the cascade of cover-alls
High-pinned for our pleasure to seam
The entrance to the grade of Kilter-pocks.
Sure for shin she mimmed.
A mound that sounded the surround
Of virginal echoes, it skimmed
The force-fastened gutturality,
As if haloes entranced the brae-lipids
And cooed cunningly for alder chapters.
Kif was solemn, the column torn
From siftless perfume-mantling Kammers
And redisposed to our farm-landing
To cuckoo Kashmir yearnings implicating, on.
Columns like chamfered catkins, forest
Semblables t’inspirit spirals
Of languid haste on dozy sun-swards.
The kleptic siren-pan of the didst-clear,
Brittling of kirtled copse for to
Open, of half-opening introvert reckoning,
Revealing scimitars, the haloing mound,
The hallowed trestles grassy grown,
Helped, upheld undeliverèd chromes,
Undelivered thrones of palmed delenity —
So long the sound, tun-flouted,
It passed upon our cantled surding
Up the choiced unruffled cairn
And up and up the seaming of that cress
Dispersion and the cresset crowned
To semi-light the wheeling of transparent
Choirs, titles gown-simmered in philanther bright.
It catapulted our new fires,
Th’affairs of castling slanterns
Offer chemists topping troves
Of flocks of glinting crypt-tides.
Idle scented gammy fold.
Turnup dehiscing schooled.
Guzzily, the sleighters shimmed and slipped that ring
Of flight-bestricken spindrifting.
The targe of asphodel de-flankers
Tinned a marge made clamorous,
And the bluffing blossom finely-parted,
Quellèd timorously of stance, belled ore-ward
Of the clefting and the scrying,
And the lifted fling-flung, of the speed
Now garrulous, now quiet chambers, of the run
Now sun-drenched kiss-me-caromed, kae thee
Nipped, now steeped, now crinolined
In drum-guyed plum-hale of that salty clippered keep,
That keep, the lovely keep, the sun-meshed keep.