(from Baudelaire.) The night Don Juan came to pay his fees To Charon, by the caverned water's shore,
The song of a man who was dead Ere any had heard of his song, Or had seen this his ultimate song,
Soft is the collied night, and cool The wind about the garden pool. Here will I dip my burning hand
When all my gentle friends had gone I wandered in the night alone: Beneath the green electric glare
In those good days when we were young and wise, You spake to music, you with the thoughtful eyes, And God looked down from heaven, pleased to hear
A linnet who had lost her way Sang on a blackened bough in Hell, Till all the ghosts remembered well
There lies a photograph of you Deep in a box of broken things. This was the face I loved and knew