Out of my forehead now the long thoughts reach
In level rays that melt the Pleiades,
Which, melting, somehow smell like toasted
cheese . . .
I know Life's secret now, but have no speech
To utter it: indeed, small wish to teach
My truths to trivial planets such as these
Whereon the populations drone like bees
That have no honey-gift, each stinging each . . .
And yet I will speak, too!... the slow words
come
With pain out of my deeps of ecstasy,
Burst from my soul as from a beaten drum
In a hoarse pulse of sound . . . But hark to
me!
“Life's secret is that all things cool somewhat
Like golden bucks”...but, somehow, that
seems rot.