Classic Poem

Those two young men, dancing quietly together in a corner
To the slow fox of ‘Moonlight on the Ruined Castle’
Are nice to watch—I don't know why—in this gay but ghastly bar.
Something in their close embrace's calm
Neutrality is more than moving: a perfect unconcern, their bodies'
Innocent conspiracy, appears to make them twins,
Their pale monkey faces mischievous and pure
Beneath the hair's black tomboy fringe.

Image of an ideal that is not only Greek,
They preserve an oriental poise, involuntary ignorance
Of private misery. Behind the sooty fans of their tilted lids'
Peculiar inclinations, their eyes dark ellipses slightly
Shift, like leaves glimpsed through holes in a paper screen.
Their pale mouths curve, flowers of blotted ink,
Into each other's cheeks. At the tips of their fine hands
The brown fingers make their nails bright pink.

Neither guilt nor passion moves them, neither do they think
Of happiness, a concept unnecessary to enjoyment.
Untroubled creatures of the spirit's jungle,
They neither smile nor weep, but turn their open masks
To look no further than the moment and each other,
Mirroring the long, cool record's easy play.
Knowing no reason why they should not be so,
They dance together, and are truly gay.