Werther-Introspection

“Talk to me somewhat quickly, Or my imagination will carry me To see her in the shameful act of sin.” Duchess of Malfi.

THE morning drums upon the window-pane, The evening drums upon the window-pane, I wait and wait and fumble in my brain.... All night I’ve lain with soul that could not rest. At dusk strange hands were tearing at my heart In a prim polar silence. The stags and does may frolic in the woods And leap beyond the stars, for aught I care, Beyond those furbished clots of frigid light, Abstract and sad detached identities, Where they may anguish, fossilize or freeze. All night I’ve lain upon the charming rack You manufactured: I shall not despair, Or coax a courteous isolated tear. But I shall hear my agonizing laughter Echoing far from floor to trembling rafter In brittle carillons like metal bells, And hear my bleached emaciated yells Burgeon in petalled peals, flamboyant, bright As merry moons in petticoats of white To hide their cancer and their leprosy. Then: “Patience, rebel, calm!” the darkness said, “You’ll never choke time’s throat of beaten lead.” I did not heed.... I knew that my heart bled. Near the pellucid lake—ah God, there stirred No animalculus, and an absurd Decorous silence humped its back and purred.