PARTO
1930-1933
PRELUDES
To Christopher Isherwood
He will watch the hawk with an indifferent eye
Or pitifully;
Nor on those eagles that so feared him, now
Will strain his brow;
Weapons men use, stone, sling and strong-thewed bow
He will not know.
This aristocrat, superb of all instinct,
With death close linked
Had paced the enormous cloud, almost had won
War on the sun;
Till now, like Icarus mid-ocean-drowned,
Hands, wings, are found.
Rolled over on Europe : the sharp dew frozen to stars
Below us ; above our heads, the night
Frozen again to stars ; the stars
In pools between our coats ; and that charmed moon.
Ah, what supports ? What cross draws out our arms,
Heaves up our bodies towards the wind
And hammers us between the mirrored lights ?
Only my body is real; which wolves
Are free to oppress and gnaw. Only this rose
My friend laid on my breast, and these few lines
Written from home, are real.
Marston, dropping it in the grate, broke his pipe.
Nothing hung on this act, it was no sym . . .
