An Orange of Cloves

Clove-scent: the dark room where the lovers lie
A closet smelling both of must and musk,
Which makes the head faint: rawer and more old
Than pale-flowered stocks which scent the dusk.

Cavern of dark I entered first: I thought
I have danced here, and to a golden lute.
Branched velvet, rushes, gallows in the sunlight-

sense shudders till it glimpses in a space
...