I

In the cold morning the rested street stands up
To greet the clerk who saunters down the world.
In the smoke mist, in the five-pound coffee-cup,
Thin gorgeous ladies promenade, ungirled.
Hang out your heads, O small unthirsted crowd!
The band is passing, blaring to the mighty —
Down from the skyscraper flutters death's shroud
Draping the shoulder of a wrinkled Aphrodite....
Well, Jenny, yes — you're right, now let's walk home.
Could these bells ringing now be wedding-bells?
When we get married I'll buy you a pearl side-comb —
It's a mean world, with shivers and racks and spells...
In the cold morning, while the unsure razor sings,
I have seen ledgers and lights and folded wings.

II THE DATE

Come to me, Jenny, let's dance a bit tonight,
The long small tremor's at my back again;
Distend your fingers to the sleepy light,
Hide your pink knees from the gaze of other men.
You must be pure — go slow with that home-brew,
Yet sometimes, like tonight, you will be gay,
And then I can't, for the artistic cheeks of you,
Drown this unholy vision of your clay.
Wind up the vic, lift one heel from the floor,
Cushion one breast against a lonely heart,
For I, with prophetic deftness, closed the door.
There will be music jazzing as we start —
And after that, when wax eyes fix on waste,
There will be staring and drinks without taste.