Lear

There with fantastic garlands of crow-flowers,

Nettles, daisies, and long purples,

Wreathed in cats and crawling

With spores like white azaleas,

I lie awake: an old embittered fig bursting with

Fungal clouds and love.


If she was to find me here, as weak as pudding,

Shifting restlessly with my fear of being shaken

Thus - Pish! Noses, ears, and lips --
--Is't possible?--Confess—

She’d see me in my motley duncery

And start; I’m in my coxcomb, weeping dust.

Oh jaw and fists! Love, and be silent;

But words turn'd wild in nature

Broke their stalls, flung out, contended

Against obedience and ate themselves.

I am as mad as the vex'd sea; mermaid-like I call her

Down and tangle in the seaweed there.

 

Love. That was my feeling – and I felt it,

I was convinced, as strongly as it was said.