I cannot sing the body electric or write my theme for English B.
I know not what creeps in on little cats’ feet or out on leaves of grass.
I’m not sure the universe is infinite, either, though the magician’s girl doesn’t flinch.
But I do see the best minds of my generation destroyed by some sweet madness.
I was not with Childe Roland at the dark tower, nor the gunslinger himself.
And hell must be a pretty swell spot, where dips the rocky highland.
I cannot hear the call of the wild or see the far side of the mountain.
And victims, aren’t we all, for the world’s more full of weeping than I can understand.
I did lose a world the other day, while answering woe for woe.
And though a single man in possession of a good fortune
Must be in want of a wife,
I struck you first with a brazen nail and raged against the night.
Drink to me only with your eyes until the cup runs over.
This child dancing in the wind can be a lady sweet and fine.
Please take my kiss upon your brow if ever two were one.
I can carry your heart (in my heart), have we but world enough and time.