Yet all the comedy was tragedy. VIII
I truly felt all that I farced to feel.
Recause the wheel revolves, forsooth, shall we
Deny a top and bottom to the wheel? The Initiation
I am the centre tco, and stand apart.
Tam the All, who made the All, in All |
Who ain, being Naught. 1 am the bloodbright Heart.
Wreathed with the Snake, and chaos is their pall
‘Thou art as I; this mystery is ours.
These blood-bought bastards of futility
Can never know us, fair and free-born flowers.
So they may say — they will — of you and me:
'- These poets never know green cheese from chalk:
‘This is the sort of nonsense lovers talk.”
Thy