Venus
Plato and Plotinus
say my little Venus,
in her umbra vinous,
flowers here between us.
Venus does enripen
farrow gifts of good men,
and she drives my ghost pen
slow upon Ben Bulben.
Water and her fire
drive my cycled gyre,
high above and higher
than your bloody spire.
Venus and her flower
bloom beneath my tower,
give the stone its power,
bless my counted hour.
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