Ted Hughes — Two Phases

I You had to come Calling my singularity In scorn, Imprisonment. It contained content That, now, at liberty In your generous embrace, As once, in rich Rome, Caractacus, I mourn. II When the labour was for love He did but touch at the tool And holiday ran prodigal. Now, stripped to the skin, Can scarcely keep alive, Sweats his stint out, No better than a blind mole That burrows for its lot Of the flaming moon and sun Down some black hole.