English

Though our thoughts often, we ourselves
are seldom together.
We have told each other
all that has happened; it seems to me —
for want of a better word — that we are both unlucky.
Even our meetings have been so brief
we should call them partings, and of our words
I remember most " good-by " .

And my young sweetheart sat at board with me.
I ate and drank and cried most bitterly.
Delicate linen on the board she laid.
And of her own small shift that cloth was made.
She gave to me a little silvern cup.
And it was her own blood that filled it up.
She took a loaf and gave me bread thereof.
And that was her young body warm with love.

Then, as of some strange mystery aware,
She smiled, and put a rose into her hair.

How difficult for me is Hebrew:
even the Hebrew for mother , for bread , for sun
is foreign. How far have I been exiled, Zion.

And fear not them that can kill the body, but are not
able to kill the Soul; But rather fear Him, which is
able to destroy both Soul and Body in Hell
And is our Life, a life wherein we borrow
No not the smallest respite from our Sorrow?
Our Profits are they but some Yellow Dust;
Subject to Loss, to Canker-eat and Rust:
Whose very Image breedeth ceaseless Cares
In every Mind where it Dominion bears.
And are our Pleasures mainly in Excess?
Which genders Guilt, and ends in Bitterness.
Are Honours fickle and dependent Stuff?

And in tha t land dwells a king
W hi ch does beare the bell ouer all,
And w i th him there dwelled a curteous k nigh t,
S i r Cawline men him call.

And he hath a ladye to his daughter,
Of ffashyon shee hath noe peere;
K night s and lordes they woed her both,
Trusted to haue beene her feere.

S i r Cawline loues her best of oni,
But nothing durst hee say
To discreeue his councell to noe man,

And I'm going way down
lord I'm gonna try to leave here today
Tell me that's a mean old fireman
and that train is just that way

Gotta get on that train
I said I'd even brought my trunk
Boys if you have been running around in this world
this train will wreck your mind
(your life too)

Lord, I once was a hobo
I crossed many points
But I decided I'd pull down for a fast life
and take it as it comes
(I reckon these old firemen and engineer would too)

There's so many people

And if to-night my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new created.

And if, as weeks go round, in the dark of the moon
my spirit darkens and goes out, and soft strange gloom
pervades my movements and my thoughts and words
then shall I know that I am walking still
with God, we are close together now the moon's in shadow.

And if, as autumn deepens and darkens

In the shop, she, her mother, and grandmother,
thinking at times of women at windows in still streets,
or women reading, a glow on resting hands.

And if an eye may save or slay,
And strike more deep than weapon long,
And if an eye by subtle play
May move one more than any tongue,
How can ye say that I do wrong
Thus to suspect without desert?
For the eye is traitor of the heart.

To frame all well, I am content
That it were done unweetingly;
But yet I say, who will assent
To do but well, do no thing why
That men should deem the contrary?
For it is said, by men expert,
That the eye is traitor of the heart.

But yet, alas, that look, all soul,

The shopgirls leave their work
quietly.

Machines are still, tables and chairs
darken.

The silent rounds of mice and roaches begin.