Artemis

Whom the tall wood let in

-Wading in the trefoil

And distilling a sin

From the sanctity of the soil-

Feels his brassart estranged,

Under the greaves no shin

And tuille and tasses changed

To a target of tin.

While the feathered arrow whirs

Indeflectible through firs

I, stronger than my risk

Till susurrations cease,

Wait within the glittering disk

The truculence of your peace,