Vaguely unenterprizing floating in A firmament where stars do not change Through frosty atmosphere or rain. The gardens about us are faded A little and our jaded Eyes would be glad To see the old gardener go mad And shoulder his spade And his rake And let the weeds make Their statement for falsehood or truth O theagony of perpetual truth! The leering god might be a plaster-cast So fixed his putty smile. His trade of creation has been suspended And he waits for us at the end of the level mile His passive switch Hangs like a cow's tail that beat The flies of twenty summers, which Accounts for this decaying-grey conceit. No one will be able hereafter, To boast a souvenir of once beauty The firmament crashes softer and softer Sin and sorrow and virtue sooty And no one will be able to say "I remember dawn's laughter God was in the Beginning anyway."
§ Title in pencil