Nymph to the Retreating Narcissus

Gad! You cad. You tall breathtaking peacock.

How I despise that charming smile and glance.

That searing touch and lying, poison kiss–

I’d taste of it if I but had the chance.

But you must to your polished pool to gaze •

And strut and marvel at your fanned plume,

And preen those purpled, silken feathers down.

I weep, for my far-seeing eyes

Can see your skinny neck

When molting season comes.