...got it, poor guy.
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")