As he grew famous—ah, but what is fame? — He lost his old obsession with his name, Things seemed to matter less, Including the fame—a television team came From another country to make a
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
The greens of the Ganges delta foliate. Of heartless youth made late aware he pled: Brownies, please come. To Henry in his sparest times sometimes The little people spread, & did friendly things; Then
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
Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart. Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood To be a tulip and desire no more But water, but light, but air. Yet his nerves
Eighty Lonely in his great age, Henry’s old friend Leaned on his burning cane while hÃs old friend Was hymnéd out of living. The Abbey rang with sound. Pound white as snow Bowed to
Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers Mr Deeds’ tuba, & the Cameo, & the race in Ben Hur, —The Lost World, with sound, & The Man from Blankey’s, which he did not dig,
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
Shh! on a twine hung from disastered trees Henry is swinging his daughter. They seem drunk. Over across them look out, Tranquil, the high statues of the wise. Her feet peep, like a lady’s
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
Industrious, affable, having brain on fire, Henry perplexed himself; others gave up; Good girls gave in; Geography was hard on friendship, Sire; Marriages lashed & languished, anguished; dearth of group And what else had
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
A spot of poontang on a five-foot piece, Diminutive, but room enough. . like clay To finger eager on some torrid day. . Who’d throw her black hair back, and hang, and tease. Never,
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
Come touch me baby in his waking dream Disordered Henry murmured. I’ll read you Hegel And that will hurt your mind I can’t remember when you were unkind But I will clear that block,
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