A woman drew her long black hair out tight, And fiddled whisper music on those strings, And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings, And crawled head downward down a blackened wall.

In the last few years everything I'd done up to sixty or so has seemed very childish.

When a great poet has lived, certain things have been done once for all, and cannot be achieved again.

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow

Philosophy: a purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.

Upon the glazen shelves kept watch Matthew and Waldo, guardians of the faith The army of unalterable law.