Anatomy of Monotony


If from the earth we came, it was an earth

That bore us as a part of all the things

It breeds and that was lewder than it is.

Our nature is her nature. Hence it comes,

Since by our nature we grow old, earth grows

The same. We parallel the mother's death.

She walks an autumn ampler than the wind

Cries up for us and colder than the frost

Pricks in our spirits at the summer's end,

And over the bare spaces of our skies

She sees a barer sky that does not bend.


The body walks forth naked in the sun

And, out of tenderness or grief, the sun

Gives comfort, so that other bodies come,

Twinning our phantasy and our device,

And apt in versatile motion, touch and sound

To make the body covetous in desire

Of the still finer, more implacable chords.

So be it. Yet the spaciousness and light

In which the body walks and is deceived,

Falls from that fatal and that barer sky,

And this the spirit sees and is aggrieved.

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