BEDDOES, Thomas Lovell

Death’s Jest-Book

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Our middle life is broad,

But life and death, the turnstiles that admit us,

On earth and off it, send us one by one

A solitary walk.

…..

Oh you small star-mob, had I been one of you,

I would have seized the sky some moonless night

And made myself the sun

…..

Speak thou no more of love,

No more of friendship here. The world is open:

I wish you life and merriment enough

From wealth and wine, and all the dingy glory

Fame doth reward those with, whose love-spurned hearts

Hunger for goblin immortality

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Be merry, ye rich fiends! Piety's dead,

and left the world a legacy to you.

Under the green-sod are your coffins packed,

So thick they break each other. The day's come

When scarce a lover, for his maiden's hair,

Can pluck a stalk whose rose draws not its hue

Out of a hate-killed heart. Nature's polluted:

There's man in every secret corner of her

Doing damned wicked deeds. Thou art old, world,

A hoary atheistic murderous star.

I wish that thou wouldst die or could be slain,

Hell-hearted bastard of the sun

…..