Death Is A Meeting Place

Time In The Heart And Sequence In The Brain-- Such As Destroyed Rimbaud And Fooled Verlaine. And Let Us Then Take Godhead By The Neck-- And Strangle It, And With It, Rhetoric.

You Know, Without My Telling You, How Sometimes A Word Or Name Eludes You, And You Seek It Through Running Ghosts Of Shadow -- Leaping At It, Lying In Wait For It To Spring Upon It, Spreading Faint Snares For It Of Sense Or Sound: Until, Of A Sudden, As If In A Phantom Forest, You Hear It, See It Flash Among The Branches, And Scarcely Knowing How, Suddenly Have It.

[at A Musical Concert:] . . . The Music's Pure Algebra Of Enchantment.

All That Is Beautiful, And All That Looks On Beauty With Eyes Filled With Fire, Like A Lover's Eyes: All Of This Is Yours; You Gave It To Me, Sunlight! All These Stars Are Yours; You Gave Them To Me, Skies!

Separate We Come, And Separate We Go, And This Be It Known, Is All That We Know.