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Page 1 of 11910 · PDF PAGE 12
…en for a drink ! I’ll wait till she is dead, to bring those tears. I doubt not in the garden of my heart Whence she is torn that flowers will bloom again. May those be flowers of weeping, flowers of art. Flowers of great tenderness and pain, Broad lilied meers Lying in a lonely leafless forest Silent and motionless beneath the moon. I feel my weakness, O thou soul that soarest Into a heaven beyond imagining On the unfaltering wing. Of the magic swan ! I know this tune Should swell to a strong note, a triumph note Blared through a trumpet’s thro…
1910 · PDF PAGE 6
…she comes smiling to me : that disgust Changes her drunken lust Into a shriek of hate—half conscious still (Beneath the obsession of the will) Of all she was—before her death, her death ! So hell boils over in her, and she rages —It seems through countless ages— With all the vile abuse That had degraded Glasgow’s grimiest stews, With all the knowledge of despair Striking me cunningly, striking everywhere, Mutilating the corpse of my dead love With such a savagery, Intensity above
1910 · PDF PAGE 11
…er roots. Now I am cleansed of her, I am so to say A man part paralysed. One limb is dead In feeling as in motion. This remains To ask : Will all catch death—how soon ? This head Excites its miserable brains To think the word it knows by intellect To be the right word—pity ! Then reflect : “ Pitiful ! Pitiful ! most pitiful ! The pity of it ! Think of the love past, Blossoms too beautiful ! Think of the hardships conquered comrade-wise ! Think of the babe and its most piteous end ! ” —All these things sound like lies. I do not comprehend Anythi…