On the porch, green-shuttered, cool, Asleep is Bertram, that bronze boy, Who, having wound her around a spool, Sends her spinning like a toy Out to the garden, all alone, To sit and weep on a bench of stone. Soon the purple dark will bruise Lily and bleeding-heart and rose, And the little Cupid lose Eyes and ears and chin and nose, And Jane lie down with others soon Naked to the naked moon.
- Donald Justice