Their own infamy creating,

Till you strike at life and hate it,

Burn your soul up so in hating.

I will scrawl on the walls of the night

Faces,

Pitiless,

Flaring,

Staring.

[70]

[70]

 A Life

Her life was like a swiftly rushing stream

Green and scarlet,

Falling into darkness.

The seasons passed for her,

Like pale iris wilting,

Or peonies flying to ribbons before the storm-gusts.

The sombre pine-tops waited until the seasons had passed.

Then in her heart they grew

The snows of changeless winter

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