Enigma, Waft of mystery in the air,Sultry, Walking click clock, longing stares.Curve, Sinched hourglass, soot silhouette,Thaw, dark dripping, caramel French corset.Touch, waving silk, Oh no, pollute, Lily pure.Grab, floaters around unhinges like golden sand.
In the beginning, there were nine,standing together, like school kids in line.Wondered a few times, about the view they glare,maybe laughing, or sitting in the judge's chair.Companion, friend, observer what they are,always up in affirmative, whenever I may need.A waft of air, they all nod in cadence,agreeing in unison, arguments pose no chance.Had imagined, they will stay forever,curtain down at a time, but never together.Crisp dusk, summer days, an eerie calm,men down, chopped up, my beloved palms.
The space of the world is immense, before me and around me;If I turn quickly, I am terrified, feeling space surround me;Like a man in a boat on very clear, deep water, space frightens and confounds me.I see myself isolated in the universe, and wonderWhat effect I can have. My hands wave underThe heavens like specks of dust that are floating asunder.I hold myself up, and feel a big wind blowingMe like a gadfly into the dusk, without my knowingWhither or why or even how I am going.So much there is outside me, so infinitelySmall am I, what matter if minutelyI beat my way, to be lost immediately?
Listen, listen, Mary mine,To the whisper of the Apennine,It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar,Or like the sea on a northern shore,Heard in its raging ebb and flowBy the captives pent in the cave below.The Apennine in the light of dayIs a mighty mountain dim and gray,Which between the earth and sky doth lay;But when night comes, a chaos dreadOn the dim starlight then is spread,And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm,Shrouding...
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there,Ye restless thoughts and busy purposesOf the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?O thou quick heart, which pantest to possessAll that pale Expectation feigneth fair!Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guessWhence thou didst come, and whither thou must go,And all that never yet was known would know--Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press,With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path,Seeking, alike from happiness and woe,A refuge in the cavern of gray death?O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do youHope to inherit in the grave below?