All calculations set to one side;
|
The inevitable Descent from Heaven,
|
A visitation of memories and a seance of rhythms
|
Invades my house, my head,
|
And the world to mind.
|
|
A horse leaps forward on suburban turf,
|
Past planted fields and streches of woods
|
Misty with carbonic plague.
|
A wretched theatrical woman, somewhere in the world,
|
Sighs after an improbable indulgence.
|
Desperadoes lie dreaming of storm, and of wounds and debauch.
|
Along small streams the little children sit,
|
Stifling their curses.
|
|
Let us turn once more to our studies,
|
To the noise of insatiable movement
|
That forms and ferments in the masses.
|
|
-----------------
|
Youth
|
| Dead Can Dance |
