The Embankment

The Embankment( The fantasi of a Fallen Gentleman on a Cold, Bitter Night)

Once, in finesse of fiddles founf I ecstasy,

In a flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.

Now see I

That warmth`s the very stuff of poesy.

Oh, God, make small

The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,

That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.