Nearly Summer

[wicked-descent.livejournal.com]

Nearly Summer
Dylan Thomas

Nearly summer, and the devil
Still comes visiting his poor relations,
If not in person sends his unending evil
By messengers, the flight of birds
Spelling across the sky his devil's news,
The seasons' cries, full of his intimations.
He has the whole field now, the gods departed
Who cannot count the seeds he sows,
The law allows
His wild carouses, and his lips
Poised at the ready ear
To whisper, when he wants, the senses' war
Or lay the senses' rumour.
The welcome devil comes as guest,
Steals what is best - the body's splendour -
Rapes, leaves for lost (the amorist!),
Counts on his fist
All he has reaped in wonder.

The welcome devil comes invited,
Suspicious but that soon passes.
They cry to be taken, and the devil breaks
All that is not already broken,
Leaves it among the cigarette ends and the glasses.