I had liefer twenty years/Skip to the broken music of my brains/Than any broken music thou canst make. - Alfred Tennyson

Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain The knots that tangle human creeds, 37 The wounding cords that 38 bind and strain The heart until it bleeds,

So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last
The living soul was flash'd on mine,

And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,

Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.

Bırak Aşk kavrasın Yas'ı,
Boğulmasın ikisi birden,
Bırak karanlık kuzgununu parıldatsın,
Ah, kaybettiklerinle sarhoş olmak ne tatlıdır,
Ölümle dans etmek, ayaklarınla yeri dövmek.