These lovely motions of the air, the breeze,
tell me I am not in hell, though round me the dead
lie in their limp postures
dramatizing the dreadful word instead
for lively Henry, fit for debaucheries
and bird-of-paradise vestures
only his heart is elsewhere, down with them
& down with Delmore specially, the new ghost
haunting Henry most;
though fierce the claims of others, coimedela crime
king the Hebrew spectre, on a note of woe
and joined me O.
'Down with them all!' Henry suddenly cried.
Their deaths were theirs. I wait on for my own,
I dare say it won't be long.
I have tried to be them, God knows I have tried,
but they are past it all, I have not done,
which brings me to end of this song.
- John Berryman
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