Sunday, April 6, 2008

Robert Graves it, poor guy.

"Sick Love"

O Love, be fed with apples while you may,
And feel the sun and go in royal array,
A smiling innocent on the heavenly causeway,

Though in what listening horror for the cry
That soars in outer blackness dismally,
The dumb blind beast, the paranoiac fury:

Be warm, enjoy the season, lift your head,
Exquisite in the pulse of tainted blood,
The shivering glory not to be despised.

Take your delight in momentariness,
Walk between dark and dark--a shining space
With the grave's narrowness, though not its peace.


A nice find: Robert Graves: The Lasting Poetic Achievement (comments on "Sick Love")

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