The adulterous wives of Solomon
Lie with young archers behind the filigree doors.
The music from his throne room, music of Negroes
And trained boys, comes over the night,
Past silver doors, into chambers
Where lovers never meant to betray their king.

How they sing, his musicians,
And our friends are lying unclothed,
Marvelling at the beauty of his court,
And though they betray him, these soldiers, these queens,
Why, they are the King's Men, they love and honour him.

O Solomon, call away your spies.
You remember the angels in that garden,
After the man and woman had been expelled,
Lying under the holy trees while their swords burnt out,
And Eve was in some distant branches,
Calling for her lover, and doubled up with pain.