And share our frailty. O my chicks, my chicks!
That I have nourished underneath my wings
And fed upon my soul.
I need no help.
He needs no help that joy has lifted up
Like some miraculous beast out of Ezekiel.
The man that dies has the chief part in the story,
And I will mock and mock that image yonder,
That evil picture in the sky—no, no!
I have all my strength again, I will outface it.
O look upon the moon that’s standing there
In the blue daylight—take note of the complexion
Because it is the white of leprosy
And the contagion that afflicts mankind
Falls from the moon. When I and these are dead
We should be carried to some windy hill
To lie there with uncovered face awhile
That mankind and that leper there may know
Dead faces laugh.
King! King! Dead faces laugh.
oldest pupil. King, he is dead; some strange triumphant thought
So filled his heart with joy that it has burst,
Being grown too mighty for our frailty,
