Continuities
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost, / No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
After the supper and talk--after the day is done,
As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging,
Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating,
(So hard for his hand to release those hands--no more will they meet,
No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young,
A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,)
Shunning, postponing severance--seeking to ward off the last word
ever so little,
E'en at the exit-door turning--charges superfluous calling back--
e'en as he descends the steps,
Something to eke out a minute additional--shadows of nightfall deepening,
Farewells, messages lessening--dimmer the forthgoer's visage and form,
Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness--loth, O so loth to depart!
Garrulous to the very last.
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost, / No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
Ah, whispering, something again, unseen, / Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door,
I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions, / But really I am neither for nor against institutions,
To those who've fail'd, in aspiration vast, / To unnam'd soldiers fallen in front on the lead,