Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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 | Holy of holies |  |
30
XXVI.
[Oblivion! must I then forget thy face?]
Oblivion! must I then forget thy face?Can death devour the one last star that shines?
Ah me, already faded are the lines.
Death in mine eyes and in my breast hath place
And with his icy finger dims the trace.
Death is upon me; with his seal he signs
My doings and myself; my day declines.
Nay, I am Death, and Death grows old apace.
Or else I am his son, for, as I move,
I grow more like him daily, and still steep
My breast in ruin, drunk with charnel breath.
Yet how should I forget thee quite, and love,
Which is my being, never dream in sleep?
Thou fool, Death is not life, nor slumber Death.
Jan. 30th, 1886.
| Holy of holies | |