THE LITTLE DEATH
Reading edition
What voice is this Sings so, rings so Within my head? Not mine, for I am dead, And a deep peace Wraps me, haps me From head to feet Like a smooth winding-sheet. Before my eyes Reeling, wheeling, Leaf-green stars Have changed to purple bars And flickered out; Spinning, thinning, Up the wall, That has grown very tall. Only that voice— Distant, insistent; Like the high Stroked glass’s airy cry; Echoing on, Winds me, binds me As with a thread Spun from my own head. O speak not yet! Forget me, let me Lie here as calm As saints that nurse their palm; Whilst like a tide Turning, returning, Silence and gloom Flow in and fill the room.