Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all my ladders start, In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
A line will take us hours maybe; / Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, / Our stitching and unstitching has been naught... Better go down upon your marrow-bones / And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones... For to articulate sweet sounds together / Is to work harder than all these, and yet / Be thought an idler by the noisy set.
I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.
I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone.
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