For other versions of this work, see Whispers of Immortality.
Whispers of Immortality
Webster was much possessed by deathAnd saw the skull beneath the skin;And breastless creatures under groundLeaned backward with a lipless grin.
Daffodil bulbs instead of ballsStared from the sockets of the eyes!He knew that thought clings round dead limbsTightening its lusts and luxuries.
Donne, I suppose, was such anotherWho found no substitute for sense;To seize and clutch and penetrate,Expert beyond experience,
He knew the anguish of the marrowThe ague of the skeleton;No contact possible to fleshAllayed the fever of the bone.······Grishkin is nice: her Russian eyeIs underlined for emphasis;Uncorseted, her friendly bustGives promise of pneumatic bliss.
The couched Brazilian jaguarCompels the scampering marmosetWith subtle effluence of cat;Grishkin has a maisonette;
The sleek Brazilian jaguarDoes not in its arboreal gloomDistil so rank a feline smellAs Grishkin in a drawing-room.
And even the Abstract EntitiesCircumambulate her charm;But our lot crawls between dry ribsTo keep our metaphysics warm.