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what's o'clock
203
White wood of poplar beneath green bark,
A man, the height and spread of a tall man,
Beneath a burning armour.
I would have flung my kerchief to him to bind upon his helmet,
But kerchiefs fall obliquely through backward centuries,
And already the light was growing too dim to see a silken nothing upon a shadowed floor.
Steel footsteps on stone make a strange sound;
I never heard the like before, and I think I never shall again.
For which unreasonable reason
I am determined to remain a virgin.