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Mud unto mud!—Death eddies near— Not here the appointed End, not here!...
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But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.
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Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?
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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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But the best I've known Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown...
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