Eric R. Dodds
We are the partly real ones
Whose bodies are an accident,
Whose phantasies were never meant
To fix their unsubstantial thrones
Inside a house of blood and bones.
All day we creep about the brain,
Benumbed and deafened with the noise
Of carnal pains and carnal joys,
That thrust their stupid joy and pain
Across the peace of our disdain.
But when the grosser senses swoon,
Then with dances privily
And the wordless litany
A million ghosts will importune
Our vestal mistress, Lady Moon:
"O undefiled, O lucid Moon!
Hear our attenuated cry!
O little fish of the cold sky,
O swimmer of the void lagoon,
O Moon, shall our release be soon?"
(Coterie, issue 3; London, December, 1919.)