But they who are the meek by trade, baiting the best of their betters with the extortions of a mock-helplessness I shall take last to love, and never wholly. For, to achieve his lightest wish, he must Become the whole of boredom, subject to Vulgar complaints like love, among the Just Be just, among the Filthy filthy too, And in his own weak person, if he can, Dully put up with all the wrongs of Man. And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, I woke to to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
Nothing beside remains.
The lone and level sands stretch far away. Others abide our question. Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. All weakness that impairs, all griefs that bow, Find their sole voice in that victorious brow. But for the blood that was spilled the clouds are grieving.