FRAGMENT XIII

Like the blood orange we have a single

Vocabulary all heart and all skin and can see

Through the dust of incisions the central perimeter

Our imaginations" orbit. Other words,

Old ways are but the trappings and appurtenances

Meant to install change around us like a grotto,

There is nothing laughable

In this. To isolate the kernel of

Our i

A. E. Housman

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.