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Hans Ostrom

The Leopard and the City

Rain fell out of the cloud of time. It made no argument. Droplets blotched a blond meadow. Out of the pattern a leopard arose. Its eyes reflected the cloud of time. An old small city is my soul, such as it is. The leopard watches over it, her breathing and her heartbeat syncopated. I do not visit there as often as I should: Work is elsewhere in factory-towns of will. When the small city seems to call, I take a road curved round a cliff. Up there sits the leopard. The ledge is blue. Arrived, I seek a sanguine plaza. People I have tried to be loiter there. They slouch
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TristW. B. Yeats

Lines Written in Dejection

When have I last looked on The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies Of the dark leopards of the moon? All the wild witches those most noble ladies, For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone. The holy centaurs of the hills are banished; And I have nothing but harsh sun; Heroic mother moon has vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years I must endure the timid sun.