Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/40

 For said the Lord: Imprimis, we have rats, And having rats, we have rain.— So on the seventh day He rested, and made Pain. —Man, if you love the Lord, and if the Lord Love liars, I will have you at your word And swallow it. Voilà. Bah!

Where do I say it is That I have lain so long? Where do I count myself among the dead, As once above the living and the strong? And what is this that comes and goes, Fades and swells and overflows, Like music underneath and overhead? What is it in me now that rings and roars Like fever-laden wine?