‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.’
‘Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,’ I cried.
‘My friends are gone, but that’s a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart’s pride.
‘A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.’
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blindWith lightning, you went from me, and I could findNothing to make a song about but kings,Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten thingsThat were like memories of you — but nowWe’ll out, for the world lives as long ago;And while we’re in our laughing, weeping fit,Hurl…
And when abounding hedges ringDeclare that winter’s best of all;And after that there s nothing goodBecause the spring-time has not come —Nor know that what disturbs our bloodIs but its longing for the tomb.
Stranger with strangcr.On my cold breast?What’s left to Sigh for?Strange night has come;God’s love has hidden himOut of all harm,Pleasure has made himWeak as a worm.
Goatherd. Nor bird nor beastCould make me wish for anything this day,Being old, but that the old alone might die,And that would be against God’s providence.Let the young wish. But what has brought you here?Never until this moment have we metWhere my goats browse on the scarce grass or leapFrom stone to Stone.Shepherd. I am…
Of old the world on dreaming fed;Grey Truth is now her painted toy;Yet still she turns her restless head:But O, sick children of the world,Of all the many changing thingsIn dreary dancing past us whirled,To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,Words alone are certain good.Where are now the warring kings,Word be-mockers? — By the Rood,Where…
Under the old wind-broken tree,I knew that One is animate,Mankind inanimate fantasy’.
