The Sea Was Angry That Day My

O Happy Dogs Of England, Bark Well At Errand Boys, If You Lived Anywhere Else, You Would Not Be Allowed To Make Such An Infernal Noise.

But One Wants The Idea Of Death, You Know, As Something Large And Unknowable, Something That Allows A Person To Stretch Himself Out. Especially One Wants It If One Is Tired. Or Perhaps What One Wants Is Simply A Release From Sensation, From All Consciousness For Ever.

Oh, No No No, It Was Too Cold Always (still The Dead One Lay Moaning) I Was Much Too Far Out All My Life And Not Waving But Drowning.

A Man May Forgive Many Wrongs, But He Cannot Easily Forgive Anyone Who Makes It Plain That His Conversation Is Tedious.

Love Is Not Love That Wounded Bleeds And Bleeding Sullies Slow. Come Death Within My Hands And I Unto My Love Will Go.