on of the maid
Had walked one night apart,
When his beard was not yet grown--and, afraid,
She had seen his young words dart.
Between a mother and a son,
The guillotine . . .
It falls, it falls, and one by one,
Unseeing and unseen,
They face the great sharp shining ton
That time has eaten green.
Between the shoulder and the head
The guillotine must play
And cleave with clash unmerited
The generating day . . .
Till the separated parts, not dead,
Rise and walk away.
This book is a hoot. Respected poet and translator Bynner joined with friends to create this outrageous parody of modern verse-- and the book was taken seriously, even though the alleged contributors to this new "Spectra" school of poetry had names like Anne Knish, which might have seemed a little odd, but they got away with it for some time. Pretty fun stuff, actually.
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