The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.