BY THE CLIFF

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?

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.

Look, the whole sand crawls,

Hums, a heaving hive,

Scrapes and scrawls —

Such a buzz and burst!

Here just one thing's not alive,

One that was at first —

But life palls.

Yes, my heart, I know,

Just my heart's stone dead —

Yes, just so.

Sick with heat, those worms

Drop down scorched and overfed —

No more need of germs!

Let them go.

Yes, but you now, look,

You, the rouged stage female

With a crook,

Chalked Arcadian sham,

You that made my soul's sleep's dream ail —

Your soul fit to damn?

Shut the book.