BY THE CLIFF

Is it daytime ( guess ), You that feed my soul To excess With that light in those eyes And those curls drawn like a scroll In that round grave guise? No or yes?

Oh, the end, I'd say! Such a foolish thing ( Pure girls’ play! ) As a mere mute heart, Was it worth a kiss, a ring, This? for two must part — Not to-day.

Look, the whole sand crawls, Hums, a heaving hive, Scrapes and scrawls — Such a buzz and burst! Here just one thing's not alive, One that was at first — But life palls.

Yes, my heart, I know, Just my heart's stone dead — Yes, just so. Sick with heat, those worms Drop down scorched and overfed — No more need of germs! Let them go.

Yes, but you now, look, You, the rouged stage female With a crook, Chalked Arcadian sham, You that made my soul's sleep's dream ail — Your soul fit to damn? Shut the book.