Poem by Marianne Moore

You Are Like the Realistic Product of an Idealistic Search for Gold at the Foot of the Rainbow

    Hid by the august foliage and fruit of the grape vine,
    twine
      your anatomy
        round the pruned and polished stem,
          chameleon.
          Fire laid upon
        an emerald as long as
      the Dark King’s massy
    one,
    could not snap the spectrum up for food as you have done.

1. To William Butler Yeats on Tagore
2. Reinforcements
3. Those Various Scalpels
4. Talisman
5. Black Earth

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