|Potted Flowers with Books IV|
from The Ship of Death
Build then the ship of death, for you must take
the longest journey, to oblivion.
And die the death, the long and painful death
that lies between the old self and the new.
Already our bodies are fallen, bruised, badly bruised,
already our souls are oozing through the exit
of the cruel bruise.
Already the dark endless ocean of the end
is washing in through the breeches of our wounds,
already the flood is upon us.
O build your ship of death, your little ark
and furnish it with food, with little cakes, and wine
for the dark flight down oblivion.
(11th September 1885 - 2nd March 1930)