And Lavishly, You Turned Your Heel

[to John Keats (1795-1821)]

and lavishly, you turned your heel

into the purpling distance; leaving us,

not quite alone, but with the

nightingale, never before this embroidered;

the heady roses you only just found.

mellow for the instant, tranquil, almost never-

over the top of beauty, impetuously- 

your moon's astonished at the charger

keeping the charge, the

fruitfulness of the marooned

knight coughing up blood

the bright stars fading fast;

the steadfast mariner of faerie

hunted, silver to the last, too early, the

blast of the horn that harries us now,

forlorn, inheriting:

wildly beyond our consolation,

the former self of Beauty-

mary angela douglas 6 october 2013