Lawrence Durrell

The Pleiades are sinking calm as paint,
And earth's huge camber follows out,
Turning in sleep, the oceanic curve

Defined in concave like a human eye
Or cheek pressed warm in the dark's cheek,
Like dancers to a music they deserve.

This balcony, a moon-annointed shelf
Above a silent garden holds my bed,
I slept. But the dispiriting autumn moon,

In her slow expurgation of the sky
Needs company: is brooding on the dead,
And so am I now, so am I.

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