IV

Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth’s lip, which drops
    them and grins—­
Shells where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters since joy thrilled
    their fins—­
Hues of the prawn’s tail or comb that makes dawn stale, so red for our
    sins!

V

Years blind and deaf use the soul’s joys as refuse, heart’s peace as
    manure,
Reared whence, next June’s rose shall bloom where our moons rose last
    year, just as pure: 
Moons’ ends match roses’ ends:  men by beasts’ noses’ ends mete sin’s
    stink’s cure.

VI

Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love’s tears melt—­flies
    caught in time’s mesh! 
Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new sin, brews blood and
    stews flesh;
Next year may see dead more germs than this weeded and reared them
    afresh.

VII

Old times left perish, there’s new time to cherish; life just shifts
    its tune;
As, when the day dies, earth, half afraid, eyes the growth of the moon;
Love me and save me, take me or waive me; death takes one so soon!

II

BY THE CLIFF

I

Is it daytime (guess),
  You that feed my soul
    To excess
With that light in those eyes
  And those curls drawn like a scroll
In that round grave guise? 
    No or yes?

II

Oh, the end, I’d say! 
  Such a foolish thing
    (Pure girls’ play!)
As a mere mute heart,
  Was it worth a kiss, a ring,
This? for two must part—­
    Not to-day.

III

Look, the whole sand crawls,
  Hums, a heaving hive,
    Scrapes and scrawls—­
Such a buzz and burst! 
  Here just one thing’s not alive,
One that was at first—­
    But life palls.

IV

Yes, my heart, I know,
  Just my heart’s stone dead—­
    Yes, just so. 
Sick with heat, those worms
  Drop down scorched and overfed—­
No more need of germs! 
    Let them go.

V

Yes, but you now, look,
  You, the rouged stage female
    With a crook,
Chalked Arcadian sham,
  You that made my soul’s sleep’s dream ail—­
Your soul fit to damn? 
    Shut the book.

III

ON THE SANDS

I

There was nothing at all in the case (conceive)
  But love; being love, it was not (understand)
Such a thing as the years let fall (believe)
  Like the rope’s coil dropt from a fisherman’s hand
When the boat’s hauled up—­“by your leave!”