Here the stone imagesAre raised, here they receiveThe supplication of a dead man¶s handUnder the twinkle of a fading star.Is it like thisIn death¶s other kingdomWaking aloneAt the hour when we areTrembling with tendernessLips that would kissForm prayers to broken stone.
The eyes are not hereThere are no eyes hereIn this valley of dying starsIn this hollow valleyThis broken jaw of our lost kingdomsIn this last of meeting placesWe grope togetherAnd avoid speechGathered on this beach of the tumid riverSightless, unlessThe eyes reappearAs the perpetual starMultifoliate roseOf death¶s twilight kingdomThe hope onlyOf empty men.
ere we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear
ere we go round the prickly pear
t five o¶clock in the morning.
Between the ideaAnd the realityBetween the motionAnd the actFalls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conceptionAnd the creationBetween the emotionAnd the responseFalls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desireAnd the spasmBetween the potencyAnd the existenceBetween the essenceAnd the descent