Along the marshy edge
Of forest streams, the fish
Wait – staring through the sedge
Grass – hoping thou wilt pass their way once more
And speak to them – thou didst they say – before.

The men of Gubbio
Good sires, do think thee mad.
Tis said they deem thee so
For that thou holdest talk with beast and bird
And hearest winged sounds no man hath heard.

For that thou claimest kin
With fire and rain and moon,
Are frugal and deep in
The hills long watch dost keep alone. They swear
One saw thee pray with fire upon thy hair.

But I – I know not, friar
If man or beast speak true.
I only know desire
To touch with my cool tongue the ruddy heat
Of those twin scarlet flames that pierce thy feet. 

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