She said:
"Your head is glowing,"
And I said:
"No, it's golden and holding its own,"
She said:
"Don't worry. Don't worry."
And I expired,
Folding on the fort,
Crossed armistice
Held treating and meeting my goals;

Oh holden,
Oh smoothing,
Oh Allah
or Buddha or God,
How they stare in my throat
Floating words as a fashion
Remote from my world,
And now added:
"How sad you've become"

If you'd seen in the valley
A glowing remote
Like a rising sun
Ground as a rod that was growing,
While wishing myself far away
And still holding,
You'd see what I've seen;
Now I'm groping for words
In a stream of great babble,
And scrambling I lay down
Quite shaken and sure.

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