/lit/ - Literature

Who is that weeping, if not simply the wind,
At this sole hour, with ultimate diamonds? ...But who
Weeps, so close to myself on the brink of tears?
This hand of mine, dreaming it strokes my features,
Absently submissive to some deep-hidden end,
Waits for a tear to melt out of my weakness
And, gradually dividing from my other destinies,
For the purest to enlighten a broken heart in silence.
The surf murmurs to me the shadow of a reproach,
Or withdraws below, in its rocky gorges,
Like a disappointed thing, drunk back in bitterness,
A rumor of lamentation and self-constraint....
What seek you, bristling, erect? And this hand of ice,
And what shivering of an effaced leaf is it
Persists amid you, isles of my naked breast?...
I am glittering and bound to this unknown heaven....
The giant cluster gleams on my thirst for disasters.
Omnipotent, alien, inescapable stars
Who deign to let shine in the distances of time
Something I cannot conceive--supernatural, pure;
You who plunge into mortals to the depth of tears
Those sovereign rays, weapons invincible,
The shooting glances of your eternity,
I am alone with you, shivering, having left
My couch; and over the reef gnawn away by marvel
I ask my heart what pain keeps it awake,
What crime committed against me or by myself?...
Or whether the pain dogs me from a dream scaled up
When (the lamps' gold swept out by a velvet breath)
With my dense arms pressed about my temples
I waited long and long for my soul's lightnings?
All me? Yes, me entire, mistress of my flesh,
Stiffening with a shiver all its strange extent,
And in my own tender bonds, hung on my blood,
I saw me seeing myself, sinuous, and
From gaze to gaze gilded my innermost forests.

>>7085078
WHAT A MAN
WHAT A MAN
WHAT A MAN

I'm going to reread The Young Fate now.

>>6965197
>That which has worth only to us, has no worth at all. Such is the iron law of literature.

WHAT A MAN