angels. Admit them, admit them. 

  

  

 ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN 

      I DON'T care whether I am beautiful to you You other women. Nothing of me that you see is my own; A man balances, bone unto bone Balances, everything thrown In the scale, you other women. You may look and say to yourselves, I do Not show like the rest. My face may not please you, nor my stature; yet if you knew How happy I am, how my heart in the wind rings true Like a bell that is chiming, each stroke as a stroke falls due, You other women:       You would draw your mirror towards you, you would wish To be different. There's the beauty you cannot see, myself and him Balanced in glorious equilibrium, The swinging beauty of equilibrium, You other women. There's this other beauty, the way of the stars You straggling women. If you knew how I swerve in peace, in the equi-         poise With the man, if you knew how my flesh enjoys The swinging bliss no shattering ever destroys You other women:       You would envy me, you would think me wonder-         ful Beyond compare; You would weep to be lapsing on such harmony As carries me, you would wonder aloud that he Who is so strange should correspond with me Everywhere. You see he is different, he is dangerous, Without pity or love. And yet how his separate being liberates me And gives me peace! You cannot see How the stars are moving in surety Exquisite, high above. We move without knowing, we sleep, and we travel on, You other women. And this is beauty to me, to be lifted and gone In a motion human inhuman, two and one      Encompassed, and many reduced to none, You other women. KENSINGTON 

  

  

 PEOPLE 

      THE great gold apples of night Hang from the street's long bough Dripping their light On the faces that drift below, On the faces that drift and blow Down the night-time, out of sight In the wind's sad sough. The ripeness of these apples of night Distilling over me Makes sickening the white Ghost-flux of faces that 

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