32
Transitional Poem
Desire clicks backLike cuckoo into clock;Leaves me to explainEyes that a tear will drownAnd a body where youthNor age will long remainTo implicate the truth.
It seems that we must callAnything truth whose wellIs deep enough;For the essentialPhilosopher-stone, desire,Needs no other proofThan its own fire.
16
Remembering how betweenEmbrace and ultimate boneAlways have interposedStrata undiagnosedIn Love's geology;And even memoryIs bullied by the fleshOut of its usual dish;I railed upon desire,
