How shall I speak of Doom, and ours in special, But as of something altogether common?
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.
Men at forty Learn to close softly The doors to rooms they will not be Coming back to.
The artist will have had his revenge for being made to wait,
A revenge not only necessary but right and clever--
Simply to leave him out of the scene forever.
There is no way to ease the burden. The voyage leads on from harm to harm, A land of others and of silence.
Soon the purple dark must bruise
Lily and bleeding-heart and rose,
And the little Cupid lose
Eyes and ears and chin and nose
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