Summer 1952 • Vol. XIV No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1952 |

Song of the Mad Menagerie

I on whom the wild sun Upon unvaried journey Burned with jealousy Because of my unreason, Know I was legendary. On straw I lie down. Wise hand, be wary: My rage is uneven. In a cautious country The wild shadows came down As though athirst, came softly And drank of the clear moon. But the wind was tamed away, But all the palms fall down. The bright aviary Sings, "O daughters of Zion." Thirst is yet necessary: The lean shade comes down Of my own savagery To sip my dry distraction. Hands, befriend cautiously: Now I pace alone That mad menagerie, The body behind bone.

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