Interruption

Death has come Falling softly like snowflakes On flowerbeds The winds blows the dead sheet of leaves Every time I see greatness rising from the earth Like a new pea growing The locust comes like a flash of lightning Will nothing endure our birth These are days so trivial Nothing is sustained beyond the flesh of pleasure And all we contewmplate Are so superficial, so personal Too insular For the escape we seek Where the highest peak is bleak Will poets see deep things again Will they make far things near And palpable on the tongue O I long to suck the delicacy of a song That drip with the light of melting stars And put my lips on the passion of the sun Who writes like that again We have neither an Eliot, nor a McKay Neither a Blake nor a Keats This is a civilization in decay Great truths now our superficiality deletes We cannot see them And all the noise is silence still I see choice like a shadow Just a rag of suspended will I want to hear a poet groan giving birth O push, push, push, please push Away this dead effect of words And let us make our lives universal Having a Wordsworthian argument again. O let us, That I may read Donne Without epilepsy, And seduce a new pain.