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You are an exquisite example of focused dementia, a man of acrid airs, who exhibits consision in style, precision in thought, and decision in life.
Sir, I declare you are a romantic in the truest sense of the word.
This poem is for you:
Open swing the doors; the torches
Flicker in the windy night -
Cast strange shadows in the porches.
Down dim alleys in the night.
Come away now - dust and ashes -
Dust to dust and clay to clay -
Stormily the organ crashes -
Dust and ashes come away.
High the wind snarls and the torches,
Flaring down the blackening night,
Toss grim shadows in the porches
And dim alleys in the night.
Men looked at you; saw the woman,
Just the eyes and limbs and common
Charm - odor di femina - that
Draws us all. And only saw that.
One man cared not much for seeming -
Animal red lips and dreaming,
Helpless eyes; great limbs; the value
Of the flesh you wore to pall you,
All that palpitant, sweet vesture -
Caring not for these, he pressed your
Body in the rack, to tear it
Open, till he saw the spirit,
Soul of you, its shame or merit.
First he took your body, woman,
Stained it, smirched it, made it common,
Scarred it with strange loves, flagitious.
Gored it raw with lust; set vicious
Things to heat the eyes; lubricious,
Unclean things to smirk and chatter
In the ears lewd, Paphain matter.
So he made you foul; and eager
Then to see how fared the meagre,
Warped, black, ulcered soul, he started
The great rack wheels. Snapped and parted
All the strings of the flesh raiment
He had fouled. The man for payment
Saw white wings flash as your soul went,
White, white, white, to God's enrollment.
They buried you tonight.
He saw the yellow torches blown alight,
Heard the organ's thunder.
He went away into the confused night,
Full of wonder
Sir, I declare you are a romantic in the truest sense of the word.
This poem is for you:
Open swing the doors; the torches
Flicker in the windy night -
Cast strange shadows in the porches.
Down dim alleys in the night.
Come away now - dust and ashes -
Dust to dust and clay to clay -
Stormily the organ crashes -
Dust and ashes come away.
High the wind snarls and the torches,
Flaring down the blackening night,
Toss grim shadows in the porches
And dim alleys in the night.
Men looked at you; saw the woman,
Just the eyes and limbs and common
Charm - odor di femina - that
Draws us all. And only saw that.
One man cared not much for seeming -
Animal red lips and dreaming,
Helpless eyes; great limbs; the value
Of the flesh you wore to pall you,
All that palpitant, sweet vesture -
Caring not for these, he pressed your
Body in the rack, to tear it
Open, till he saw the spirit,
Soul of you, its shame or merit.
First he took your body, woman,
Stained it, smirched it, made it common,
Scarred it with strange loves, flagitious.
Gored it raw with lust; set vicious
Things to heat the eyes; lubricious,
Unclean things to smirk and chatter
In the ears lewd, Paphain matter.
So he made you foul; and eager
Then to see how fared the meagre,
Warped, black, ulcered soul, he started
The great rack wheels. Snapped and parted
All the strings of the flesh raiment
He had fouled. The man for payment
Saw white wings flash as your soul went,
White, white, white, to God's enrollment.
They buried you tonight.
He saw the yellow torches blown alight,
Heard the organ's thunder.
He went away into the confused night,
Full of wonder
