I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow.
Today will die tomorrow.
By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept Remembering thee.
Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever That dead men rise up never That even the weariest river Wi...
From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river...
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apartFlesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.
Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.
Villon our sad bad glad mad brother's name.