Night, weave me a veil and cover me soft away From hard eyes' pry-spies; seamstress, weave me now Far from stars' prisms a place of hiding night; From narrow arrow tongues, from angry pins Of pierced fierce saying, veil me soft away. Although I should love to shine oiled as the sun And gamesome come among flocks of crowing cocks And though my throat shouts like a bird to be heard And my enameled feathers preen, bitter light Illuminates my accusers' sear and scorn. I am peeled and revealed, weak in my puling bones: A hooked, cadaverous worm pinned in pain. To be known, to be heard, shreds the subtle veils; Stands bold-faced upon the past to catcall now, Fleshes in brave skin all pins all arrows fletched with light, Cauterizes all wounds, yet without enduring cure. Shall I stand gaudy-prowed, upright and pure? Night, drop your dark threads; weave me a soft, safe veil.