|
I saw a tattered cloak, drawn about the face |
|
A gesture of farewell, to the kiss of |
|
God's mouth |
|
Kiss the image in a stranger's casket |
|
What has become of splendour? |
|
Twelve strokes have fallen |
|
And the faintly heard breath |
|
That argued my beauty |
|
A ruined soul bewailing |
|
Where the angels allow their wings bewilted |
|
To droop, to bow to the bosom of a friend |
|
Kiss me tenderly, savage |
|
God My lips are dumb to speak a thousand inane words |
|
And how sweet a toil |
|
All is dark, all is blackened |
|
All but an upturned face |
