IV
Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth's lip, which drops
them and grins--
Shells where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters since joy thrilled
their fins--
Hues of the prawn's tail or comb that makes dawn stale, so red for our
sins!
V
Years blind and deaf use the soul's joys as refuse, heart's peace as
manure,
Reared whence, next June's rose shall bloom where our moons rose last
year, just as pure:
Moons' ends match roses' ends: men by beasts' noses' ends mete sin's
stink's cure.
VI
Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love's tears melt--flies
caught in time's mesh!
Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new sin, brews blood and
stews flesh;
Next year may see dead more germs than this weeded and reared them
afresh.
VII
Old times left perish, there's new time to cherish; life just shifts
its tune;
As, when the day dies, earth, half afraid, eyes the growth of the moon;
Love me and save me, take me or waive me; death takes one so soon!
II
BY THE CLIFF
I
Is it daytime (guess),
You that feed my soul
To excess
With that light in those eyes
And those curls drawn like a scroll
In that round grave guise?
No or yes?
II
Oh, the end, I'd say!
Such a foolish thing
(Pure girls' play!)
As a mere mute heart,
Was it worth a kiss, a ring,
This? for two must part--
Not to-day.
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