 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
 | Collected poems |  |
XI. XI
Still through the dusk of dead, blank-legended,
And unremunerative years we search
To get where life begins, and still we groan
Because we do not find the living spark
Where no spark ever was; and thus we die,
Still searching, like poor old astronomers
Who totter off to bed and go to sleep,
To dream of untriangulated stars.
And unremunerative years we search
To get where life begins, and still we groan
Because we do not find the living spark
104
Still searching, like poor old astronomers
Who totter off to bed and go to sleep,
To dream of untriangulated stars.
| Collected poems | |