Life and Existence

Black are the horses. The horseshoes are black. On the dark capes glisten stains of ink and of wax. Their skulls are leaden, which is why they don’t weep. With their patent leather souls they come down the street.

George Brush is my name America’s my nation Luddington’s my dwelling place And Heaven’s my destination.

Take your delight in momentariness, Walk between dark and dark—a shining space With the grave’s narrowness, though not its peace.

a hopeless case if—listen: there’s a hell of a good universe next door; let’s go

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Buffalo Bill’s defunct and break onetwothreefourfive pigeons- he was a handsome man how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania.

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

In this most Christian of worlds

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm, On a day I already remember. I shall die in Paris—it does not bother me— Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn. 1

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink.

Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers The buck in the snow… Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.

How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers The buck in the snow… Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning;

Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness—presently Every bed is narrow.

My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light. 1

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

We, the rescued, Beg you: Show us your sun, but gradually. Lead us from star to star, step by step. Be gentle when you teach us to live again. 2

O the chimneys On the ingeniously devised habitations of death When Israel’s body drifted as smoke Through the air— Was welcomed by a star, a chimney sweep, A star that turned black Or was it a ray of sun? 1