Classic Poem

a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon
(where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred)
my mirror gives me, on this afternoon;
I am a shape that can but eat and turd
ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird,
a coward waiting clumsily to cease
whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
a hand's impression in an empty glove,
a soon forgotten time, a house for lease.
I have never loved you dear as now i love.

behold this fool who, in the month of June,
having of certain stars and planets heard,
rose very slowly in a tight balloon
until the smallening world became absurd;
him did an archer spy (whose aim had erred
never) and by that little trick or this
he shot the aeronaut down, into the abyss
— and wonderfully i fell through the green groove
of twilight, striking into many a piece.
I have never loved you dear as now i love

god's terrible face, brighter than a spoon,
collects the image of one fatal word;
so that my life (which liked the sun and the moon)
resembles something that has not occurred:
i am a birdcage without any bird,
a collar looking for a dog, a kiss
without lips; a prayer lacking any knees
but something beats within my shirt to prove
he is undead who, living, noone is.
I have never loved you dear as now i love.

Hell (by most humble me which shall increase)
open thy fire! for i have had some bliss
of one small lady upon earth above;
to whom i cry, remembering her face,
i have never loved you dear as now i love