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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. |