June the Third 1973
In honesty I must confess that death is not for me.
It's not the balm to soothe my mind, to calm my troubled breast
It's not the sleep my soul requires, for I shall need no rest
As there before my lover s eyes I know that none can see
And see what none can know to be within my brain oppressed.
My brain is balm to those who know that balm is not to be
My troubles are but non-existent thoughts to those who know
That ribald charm and feckless lust will overcome the foe
That tills the land and farms the coast that borders on the sea
And rends apart the scorching air where navigates the crow.
I wish I were a turpid crow,,to soar above the land,
To purify the pallid snow with splendid sombre black
To dedicate a purple glow to those who lustre lack
And burn again the feeble folk whom none but starlight tanned.
Run forth! Run hard! for I am nigh and hard upon your track!
Run, Jason, Run!
Run, and flee beyond my reach, or else I needs must kill
Whoever dares deny that I am not unfit to reign
And I fear to use my dagger, I would rather bring no pain
To those to whom to leave alone it is my only will
For I am not a ruler, nor a prince, but just a swain.
My anger is irrational, a random element
My error geometrical, my justice worth no fig.
My worry now is infinite, as lofty bough to twig
And then again my sympathies are not so easy lent,
Just as my hair's less lendable than yours, which is a wig.
Oh, would I were a turtle dove, whose song were sweet and pure
That purifies the organ-loft with sultry summer coo
That I should do no evil deeds that I would need to rue
Nor propagate malignant ills that have no other cure.
Now, flee my clutches, shun my grasp, I want no hold on you:
Flee, Jason, Flee!
Relent, O clear one, gaze into my eyes,
Repent the words you never meant to say,
Heed nevermore those unforgotten lies
And let us learn to live another way.
To live, yet not to die, is now our aim
Or if to die then not to suffer long;
To suffocate within these walls of shame
For wrongs we did that were not ever wrong.
We did sweet nothings as the evening drew
Upon us then, and wrought us through with fire.
Then coming rain-clouds seemed to us anew
But then you left me tangled in the wire.
I swore aloud at your receding form,
My head sank to my hands, my mind was lost.
And at the climax of the thunderstorm
Into the crack of time my thoughts were tossed.
Then like a mindless jester, I was scorned.
I wandered by the docks, towards the sea
And as the cataclysmic sunrise dawned
I watched the ships roll seaward, from a tree.
Thus you find me now a sorry wight,
So come into my branches now, my sweet,
Illuminate me with your cheering light
And we can serve to guide the homing fleet.
So gaze and bring me back once more to life.
Relent, let anger never find its way.
Let no-one else reveal the sharpest knife,
Repent the words you never meant to say.
Now, my love, I go.
The sails, the tiller call;
Prepare: and always know
That I shall be your bier, and you my pall.