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Act I, Scene xiii, Air XVI—“Over the Hills, and Far Away”

Act III, Scene xiii, Air XXVII—“Green Sleeves”

colored pictures of all things to eat: dirty postcards And words, words, words all over everything No eyes or ears left to do their own doings (all invaded, appropriated, outraged, all senses including the mind, that worker on what is And that other sense made to give even the most wretched, or any of us, wretched, that consolation (greased lulled even the street-cars song

all wrong And I am asked—ask myself (I, too, covered with the gurry of it) where shall we go from here, what can we do when even the public conveyances sing? how can we go anywhere, even cross-town how get out of anywhere (the bodies all buried in shallow graves?

I. Dzogbese Lisa has treated me thus It has led me among the sharps of the forest Returning is not possible And going forward is a great difficulty The affairs of this world are like the chameleon feces Into which I have stepped When I clean it cannot go. 1 I am on the world's extreme corner, I am not sitting in the row with the eminent But those who are lucky Sit in the middle and forget I am on the world's extreme corner I can only go beyond and forget. My people, I have been somewhere If I turn here, the rain beats me If I turn there the sun burns me The firewood of this world Is for only those who can take heart That is why not all can gather it. The world is not good for anybody But you are so happy with your fate; Alas! The travelers are back All covered with debt. II. Something has happened to me The things so great that I cannot weep; I have no sons to fire the gun when I die And no daughters to wail when I close my mouth I have wandered on the wilderness The great wilderness men call life The rain has beaten me, And the sharp stumps cut as keen as knives I shall go beyond and rest. I have no kin and no brother, Death has made war upon our house; And Kpeti's great household is no more, Only the broken fence stands; And those who dared not look in his face Have come out as men. How well their pride is with them. Let those gone before take note They have treated their offspring badly. What is the wailing for? Somebody is dead. Agosu himself Alas! A snake has bitten me My right arm is broken, And the tree on which I lean is fallen. Agosi if you go tell them, Tell Nyidevu, Kpeti, and Kove That they have done us evil; Tell them their house is falling And the trees in the fence Have been eaten by termites; That the martels curse them. Ask them why they idle there While we suffer, and eat sand. And the crow and the vulture Hover always above our broken fences And strangers walk over our portion.

I had not thought of violets late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine; And garish lights, and mincing little fops And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines. So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed, I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams; The perfect loveliness that God has made,— Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams. And now—unwittingly, you've made me dream Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.

The late Gracie Allen was a very lucid comedienne, Especially in the way that lucid means shining and bright. What her husband George Burns called her illogical logic Made a halo around our syntax and ourselves as we laughed. George Burns most often was her artful inconspicuous straight man. He could move people about stage, construct skits and scenes, write And gather jokes. They were married as long as ordinary magic Would allow, thirty-eight years, until Gracie Allen's death. In her fifties Gracie Allen developed a heart condition. She would call George Burns when her heart felt funny and fluttered He'd give her a pill and they'd hold each other till the palpitation Stopped—just a few minutes, many times and pills. As magic fills Then fulfilled must leave a space, one day Gracie Allen's heart fluttered And hurt and stopped. George Burns said unbelievingly to the doctor, "But I still have some of the pills."

No children; Cold uncoils in the blood; Science, true, not good For you. So old, Suddenly, or so young. Lyric inside not to be sung. Plug pulled, screen gone. Sun out; mind Bountiful, playing pain. These are my children In my head. Unbegotten. This is to self-forget, To have the future Born forgotten.

Cover me with your everlasting arms, Ye guardian giants of this solitude! From the ill-sight of men, and from the rude, Tumultuous din of yon wild world’s alarms! Oh, knit your mighty limbs around, above, And close me in for ever! let me dwell With the wood spirits, in the darkest cell That ever with your verdant locks ye wove. The air is full of countless voices, joined In one eternal hymn; the whispering wind, The shuddering leaves, the hidden water springs, The work-song of the bees, whose honeyed wings Hang in the golden tresses of the lime, Or buried lie in purple beds of thyme.

My heart be brave, and do not falter so, Nor utter more that deep, despairing wail. Thy way is very dark and drear I know, But do not let thy strength and courage fail; For certain as the raven-winged night Is followed by the bright and blushing morn, Thy coming morrow will be clear and bright; ’Tis darkest when the night is furthest worn. Look up, and out, beyond, surrounding clouds, And do not in thine own gross darkness grope, Rise up, and casting off thy hind’ring shrouds, Cling thou to this, and ever inspiring hope: Tho’ thick the battle and tho’ fierce the fight, There is a power making for the right.