All that hair flashing over the Atlantic, Henry’s girl’s gone. She’ll find Paris a sweet place As many times he did. She’s there now, having left yesterday. I held Her cousin’s hand, all innocence,

In a state of chortle sin—once he reflected, Swilling tomato juice—live I, and did More than my thirstier years. To Hell then will it maul me? for good talk, And gripe of retail loss?

Hey, out there! —assistant professors, full, Associates, —instructors—others—any— I have a sing to shay. We are assembled here in the capital City for Dull—and one professor’s wife is Mary— At Christmastide, hey! And all

Darkened his eye, his wild smile disappeared, Inapprehensible his studies grew, Nourished he less & less His subject body with good food & rest, Something bizarre about Henry, slowly sheared Off, unlike you &

Westward, hit a low note, for a roarer lost Across the Sound but north from Bremerton, Hit a way down note. And never cadenza again of flowers, or cost. Him who could really do

—Thass a funny title, Mr Bones. €”When down she saw her feet, sweet fish, on the threshold, She considered her fair shoulders And all them hundreds who have them, all The more who to

Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig, Bred when he was brittle, bred when big, How he’s sweating to support them. Which birthday of the brighter darker man, The Goya of the Globe &

Tell it to the forest fire, tell it to the moon, Mention it in general to the moon On the way down, He’s about to have his lady, permanent; And this is the worst

While his wife earned the living, Rabbi Henry Studied the Torah, writing commentaries More likely to be burnt than printed. It was rumoured that they needed revision. Smiling, kissing, he bent his head not

In slack times visit I the violent dead And pick their awful brains. Most seem to feel Nothing is secret more To my disdain I find, when we who fled Cherish the knowings of

Hell is empty. O that has come to pass Which the cut Alexandrian foresaw, And Hell is empty. Lightning fell silent where the Devil knelt And over the whole grave space hath settled awe

I don’t know one damned butterfly from another My ignorance of the stars is formidable, Also of dogs & ferns Except that around my house one destroys the other When I reckon up my

Eighty Lonely in his great age, Henry’s old friend Leaned on his burning cane while hís old friend Was hymnéd out of living. The Abbey rang with sound. Pound white as snow Bowed to

In a blue series towards his sleepy eyes They slid like wonder, women tall & small, Of every shape & size, In many languages to lisp ‘We do’ To Henry almost waking. What is

His malice was a pimple down his good Big face, with its sly eyes. I must be sorry Mr Frost has left: I like it so less I don’t understood— He couldn’t hear or

Love her he doesn’t but the thought he puts Into that young woman Would launch a national product Complete with TV spots & skywriting Outlets in Bonn & Tokyo I mean it Let it

Afters eight years, be less dan eight percent, Distinguish’ friend, of coloured wif de whites In de School, in de Souf. €”Is coloured gobs, is coloured officers, Mr Bones. Dat’s nuffin? —Uncle Tom, Sweep

A Thurn Among them marble where the man may lie Lie chieftains grand in final phase, or pause, ‘O rare Ben Jonson’, Dictator too, & the thinky other Johnson, Dictator too, backhanders down of

The Russian grin bellows his condolence Tó the family: ah but it’s Kay, & Ted, & Chris & Anne, Henry thinks of: who eased his fearful way From here, in here, to there. This

There were strange gatherings. A vote would come That would be no vote. There would come a rope. Yes. There would come a rope. Men have their hats down. “Dancing in the Dark” Will

He does not live here but it is the god. A priest tools in a top his motorbike. You do not enter. Us the landscape circles hard abroad, Sunned, stone. Like calls, too low,

Nothin very bad happen to me lately. How you explain that? —I explain that, Mr Bones, Terms o’ your bafflin odd sobriety. Sober as man can get, no girls, no telephones, What could happen

It was the blue & plain ones. I forget all that. My own clouds darkening hung. Besides, it wasn’t serious. They took them in different rooms & fed them lies. ‘She admitted you wanted

Grief is fatiguing. He is out of it, The whole humiliating Human round, Out of this & that. He made a-many hearts go pit-a-pat Who now need never mind his nostril-hair Nor a critical

It was wet & white & swift and where I am We don’t know. It was dark and then It isn’t. I wish the barker would come. There seems to be eat Nothing. I