![]() Surroundings of social life are futile and vain. . . . |
![]() Dawdling over the remorseless earth, What evil, what unspeakable crime Have you made your life worth? |
![]() With lies, self-denial, unspoken regret And the sick eyes that blame; before the divorce And the treachery. |
![]() Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold, Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard Who has turned up a severed hand. |
![]() A book or memorized one plot, Or found a mind I did not doubt, I learned one date. And then forgot. And one by one the solid scholars Get the degrees, the jobs, the dollars. |
![]() have power to choose that we should die; nothing else is free in this world to refuse it. |
![]() The young sprouts. Sprinkle them in the hour When shadow falls across their bed. You should try to look at them every day Because when they come to full flower I will be away. |
![]() a proud rejected man who lived along the edges catch as catch can; in darkness and in hedges I sang my sour tone and all my love was howling conspicuously alone. |
![]() They look out from their hill and say, To themselves, "We have nowhere to go but down; The great destination is to stay." |
![]() And you can rip off the whole facial mask. |
![]() Yet in the nights I heard you cry Like a whipped child. . . . |
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