[lit-ideas] Re: "That too much your head of sleep becomes"
- From: Robert Paul <robert.paul@xxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Fri, 03 Jun 2005 17:16:34 -0700
Eric Yost wrote:
>
> "That too much your head of sleep becomes"
>
>
> That too much your head of sleep becomes, you human my love,
> too much your head of sleep my love places, my arm placed;
> The time and the fire of fever again examine far certain beauty
> of the thorough children and ephemeral the child that chases him:
> But in my poor spot, cutting the day in a live manner as can be
> the creature mortally accused, however with me a complete beau.
>
> The heart and the bodies have no sides:
> They are wanted, after their rise in their ordinary swoon ends,
> with the sepulcher of that point of view to come, by sympathy
> of which is the universal love and the supernatural hope;
> Whereas an abstract point of view under the glaciers and the rocks,
> a sensual ecstasy of colonists, awakes themselves.
>
> Security married midnight on advice of race such as the impact of a bell
> and the modern lunatics to their shouts of pedantry bring forward:
> Each farthing of costs, the whole terrible forecast the diagram becomes,
> but pay no attention to this night, still not a point of view.
>
> Beauty, midnight, the cubes of the point of view:
> leaves him a head that a day of the eye dreams,
> which can entour so the heart can attach this way
> easily to roast the crane of pale, the discovery
> of the world of dying to bless it sufficiently;
> twelve hour of a dryness that you,
> by the involuntary energy, return to
> see you calm that night of the deterioration,
> by each human love the attention exceeding that pay.
-------------------------------
Poor Auden.
Robert Paul
among the ruins
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