I have told you in another poem, whether you've read it or not, About a beautiful place the hard-wounded f Deer go to die in; their bones lie mixed in their little graveyard Under leaves by a flashing cliff-brook, and if They have ghosts they like it, the bones and mixed antlers are well content. Now comes for me the time to engage My burial place: put me in a beautiful place far off from men, No cemetery, no necropolis, And for God's sake no columbarium, nor yet no funeral.
But if the human animal were precious As the quick deer or that hunter in the night the lonely puma I should be pleased to lie in one grave with 'em.
The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers Hooked in the stones of the wall, The storm-wrack hair and the screeching mouth: does it matter, Cassandra, Whether the people believe Your bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth; they'd liefer Meet a tiger on the road. Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion- Venders and political men Pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for kindly Wisdom. Poor bitch, be wise. No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to men And gods disgusting.-You and I, Cassandra.
Old garden of grayish and ochre lichen, How long a time since the brown people who have vanished from here Built fires beside you and nestled by you Out of the ranging sea-wind? A hundred years, two hundred, You have been dissevered from humanity And only known the stubble squirrels and the headland rabbits, Or the long-fetlocked plowhorses Breaking the hilltop in December, sea-gulls following, Screaming in the black furrow; no one Touched you with love, the gray hawk and the red hawk touched you Where now my hand lies. So I have brought you Wine and white milk and honey for the hundred years of famine And the hundred cold ages of sea-wind. I did not dream the taste of wine could bind with granite, Nor honey and milk please you; but sweetly They mingle down the storm-worn cracks among the mosses, Interpenetrating the silent Wing-prints of ancient weathers long at peace, and the older Scars of primal fire, and the stone Endurance that is waiting millions of years to carry A corner of the house, this also destined. Lend me the stone strength of the past and I will lend you The wings of the future, for I have them. How dear you will be to me when I too grow old, old comrade.
The storm-dances of gulls, the barking game of seals, Over and under the ocean... Divinely superfluous beauty Rules the games, presides over destinies, makes trees grow And hills tower, waves fall. The incredible beauty of joy Stars with fire the joining of lips, О let our loves too Be joined, there is not a maiden Burns and thirsts for love More than my blood for you, by the shore of seals while the wir Weave like a web in the air Divinely superfluous beauty.