Now that the burning brain is clay And the body's sodden veins are glue, Elbow and bone have gone soaked to sod, And I lie sandlocked, spine and foot, Unstirred by the insistent stars. Love has nothing to wake the dead Though the dead are waiting to wake. I'm stiff as mittens lost in a snowstorm, No burning for heart or for head, Though hearts at my wake are aching. Day's gone down on the chilling chapel And stone shadows pool east of forever Where we grave men wrestle the gods; Eternity flees, all triumph dispelled To the white gold of a maggot's egg. Night and death have put daylight out of favor.