“For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee . . .”
Misuse makes for its costume gorgeous ghosts
Of garments any critic could revere.
O how I hate them fresh! — the grandiose
And homeliest alike, opaque or sheer,
Both rose and jet. Just those reduced to wraiths
Hold true appeal. In those I put my wear,
And then the Holy Ghost — well in my Faith’s
Constraints, no matter what you see or swear.
Thus when you vow by me, you vow by rag
Dampened with swamp wine, with a Host of earth
Rubbed through its threads, embellished with moss slag.
To vow by me is to avow a …