The Embankment

(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
   Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
 
   In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
   Now see I
   That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.
   Oh, God, make small
   The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
   That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.