Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor

I Testify To Rainbow Feathers, To The Span Of Heaven And Walls Of Colour, The Colonnades Of Jasper.

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

Pompeii Has Nothing To Teach Us, We Know Crack Of Volcanic Fissure, Slow Flow Of Terrible Lava, Pressure On Heart, Lungs, The Brain About To Burst Its Brittle Case (what The Skull Can Endure!)

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.

Remember The Golden Apple-trees; O, Do Not Pity Them, As You Watch Them Drop One By One, For They Fall Exhausted, Numb, Blind But In Certain Ecstasy, For Theirs Is The Hunger For Paradise.