The gilded phaloi of the crocuses <br />are thrusting at the spring air. <br />Here is there naught of dead gods <br />But a procession of festival, <br />A procession, Giulio Romano, <br />Fit for your spirit to dwell in. <br />Dione, your nights are upon us. <br /> <br />The dew is upon the leaf. <br />The night about us is restless.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coitus-2/
