For an Indian Screen

Clutching at trees and clawing rocks
And panting and climbing
Until he reached the top
A tiger in India
Surmounted a cliff one day
When the hunters were behind him
And his lair was far away.
A black and golden tiger
Climbed a red cliffs side
And men in black and golden gowns
Sought the tiger’s hide.

O, splendid, supple animal:
Against the cliffs red face:
A picture for an Indian screen
Woven in silks of subtle sheen
And broidered in yellow lace,
A picture for an Indian screen
As a prince’s gift to some ebony queen
In a far-off land like a fairy scene.

Where most surely comes a day
When all the sweets you’ve gorged
Will turn your stomach sick
And all the friends you’ve loved
Will go away
And every gold swift hour
Will be an hour of pain
And every sun-filled cloud
A cloud of rain
And even the withered flowers
Will lose their long-held faint perfume
And you alone will be with you
In that last room,—
Only your single selves together
Facing a single doom.