Here, whence <br />all have departed orwill do, here airless, where <br />that witchy ball <br />wanted, fought toward, dreamed of, all a green living <br />drops limply into one's hands <br />without pleasure or interest <br /> <br />Figurez-vous, a time swarms when the word <br />'happy' sheds its whole meaning, like to come and <br />like for memory too <br />That morning arrived to Henry as well a great cheque <br />eaten out already by the Government & State & <br />other strange matters <br /> <br />Gentle friendly Henry Pussy-cat <br />smiled into his mirror, a murderer's <br />(at Stillwater), at himself alone <br />and said across a plink to that desolate fellow <br />said a little hail & buck-you-up <br />upon his triumph<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-19-here-whence/
