The poem
All that hair flashing over the Atlantic, Henry's girl's gone. She'll find Paris a sweet place as many times he did. She's there now, having left yesterday. I held her cousin's hand, all innocence, on the climb to the tower. Her cousin is if possible more beautiful than she is.
All over the world grades are being turned in, and isn't that a truly gloomy thought. It's June, God help us, when the sight we fought clears. One day when I take my sock off the skin will come with it
and I'll run blood, horrible on the floor the streaming blood reminds me of my love. Wolves run in & out take wolves, but terrible enough I am dreaming of my love's hair & all her front teeth are false as were my anti-hopes.