I could have warned you, but you are young –
and I speak with a barbarous tongue..
Has no one told you those daring eyes should be more learned?
My hand had strength to unbind what none can understand,
what none can have and thrive
Now as at all times I can see in the mind`s eye,
no government appointed me
And when I see the cold heaven, there my imagination and heart are driven
So wild that every casual thought of this and that vanished, and only left memories
With the hot blood of youth, or love that crossed long ago
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason, until I cried and trembled,
riddled with light……..
Out naked on the roads, and stricken by the injustice of the skies for punishment
I made my song a coat out of old mythologies; but the fools caught it, wore it in the world`s eyes as though they`d wrought it. Let them fucking take it, for there`s more enterprise in walking naked..
It`s plain that the bible means that king Solomon grew wise while talking to his queens
The living men that I hate, the dead men that I love; sleep driven from my bed by tenderness and care.. He is foremost of those that I would hear praised – I will talk no more of books or my long war, but walk by the dry thorn until I have found some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there manage the talk until his name comes `round.
If there `ll be rags enough I will know his name; though I `ve had young men`s praise and old men`s blame
But since I laid my hand there on and found a heart of stone,
I have attempted many things and not a thing is done
For my hand is lunatic that it travels on the moon..
Like a mermaid who found a swimming boy and picked him for her own,
I pressed my body to his body, laughed, and plunging down I forgot in
my cruel happiness that even lovers drown
Then suddenly my heart was wrung by his distracted air, and I remembered wildness lost
Imagining, moon-accursed, that another mouthful and his beating heart would burst
And for that reason I am crazed, and my sleep is gone – for my arms are like a twisted thorn
Laughter , not time, destroyed his voice and put a crack in it
For that is natural to a man that lives in memory;
being all alone I`d nurse a stone..
Never to have lived is best, the ancient writers say: never to have drawn the breath of life,
never to have looked into the eye of day..
The second-best is a long dark night, and a quickly turn away
An old ghost`s thoughts are lightning – because to follow is to die
I sing what was lost and I dread what was won
I walk in a battle fought over and over again
My king`s a lost king, and lost soldiers are my men
They always beat on the same small stone…