Life and Existence

There with vast wings across the canceled skies, There in the sudden blackness the black pall Of nothing, nothing, nothing—nothing at all.

 

Petersburg! I still possess a list of addresses, Which will help me to hear the voices of the dead.

 

Petersburg! I still possess a list of addresses, Which will help me to hear the voices of the dead.

 

Build then the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to oblivion.

 

Build then the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to oblivion.

 

Reach me a gentian, give me a torch! Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of a flower down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark.

 

For he seemed to me again like a king, Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld, Now due to be crowned again.

 

I never saw a wild thing Sorry for itself.

 

Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

 

Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

 

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

 

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

 

When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you should lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care.

 

It’s not the basic I that the poet is after but the essential you.

 

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way— only foam trails in the sea.

 

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way— only foam trails in the sea.

 

No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven’s glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

 

There is not room for Death.

 

Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ’Tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure.

 

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring.

 

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring.

 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark.