To Bob Lillard
Out of my forehead now the long thoughts reach
In level rays that melt the Pleiades,
Which, melting, somehow smell like toasted
cheese . . .
I know Life's secret now, but have no speech
To utter it: indeed, small wish to teach
My truths to trivial planets such as these
Whereon the populations drone like bees
That have no honey-gift, each stinging each . . .
And yet I will speak, too!... the slow words
come
With pain out of my deeps of ecstasy,
Burst from my soul as from a beaten drum
In a hoarse pulse of sound . . . But hark to
me!
“Life's secret is that all things cool somewhat
Like golden bucks”...but, somehow, that
seems rot.
XVI—AN ENGAGEMENT
To Kit Morley
There is a place, not far from Gissing Street,
In Paradise, where one can dream and laugh
You go through Shelley Lane, striking your staff
Upon the cobbles, turn with eager feet
Down Benêt Place, and there you are! I'll meet
You, Christopher, and we shall quarrel and quaff
Our pewter tankards full of Shandygaff,
And eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!
And must we die first? Well, it's worth the trouble
I shall go first, because I'm old and gray,
And permanently I'll reserve a booth—
And when you come, no doubt I'll see you double,
And as you land from Charon's skiff I'll say:
“Here, kid, taste this! Roll this upon your tooth!'