"The Magnet."
"I love my lord, my black-haired lord.
My young love, thin-faced, pointed like a fox.
And he, singing and sighing, with the bawdy
went crying up the hounds.
Through the thicket he leaped, through bramble,
and crossed the river on rocks.
And there alongside the sheep and among the ewes and lambs
with terrible sleep he cunningly laid his hoax.
Ah, fey, and ill-gotten and wicked his tender heart.
Even as they with their baths and their niggles
rumped up the thistle and bit with their delicate teeth
the flowers and the seeds and the leaf.
He leaped with the cry as coarse as the herders, 'Come,
I will start.
Come down, my pretties, and dance
to the hunting horn and the slit of your throbbing throats,
and make me a coat out of grief.
And they danced.
He was fey.
And they danced.
And the coat they made turned all
of an innocent mind and a single love into beasts afraid.
Was it I called him back?
Was it hunger?
Was it the world?
Not my tears, not those cries of the murdered,
but 'twas the fox hid in the woods who called.
And the smell of the fox burned in his mind,
the fox in his den smiling.
Around his red body his fine plume curled out of the valley
and across the river.
Leaving the sheep's hair, he left the maligned flocks.
I heard him coming through brambles,
through narrow forests.
I bid my nights unwind.
I bid my days turn back.
I broke my windows.
I unsealed my locks.