And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight To divide us forever. - Conrad Aiken

"Here too was the terrifying fixed curve of the infinite, the creeping curve of logic which at least must become the final signpost at the edge of nothing. After that - the deluge. The great white light of annihilation. The bright flash of death... ("Mr. Arcularis")"

So, talking with my first wife,
At the dark end of evening, when she leaned
And smiled at me, with blue eyes weaving webs
Of finest fire, revolving me in scarlet, — Calling to mind remote and small successions
Of countless other evenings ending so, — I smiled, and met her kiss, and wished her dead

And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.