696
PARTISAN REVIEW
This high born child will whore it in the wheat
With common cannibals and eat
Her mother's tender gobbets neat-
ly spiked on hate, a tasty stew,
And fragrant with all the bitterly sweet
Herbs her childhood knew.
R. P. Blackmur
AND NO AMENDS
Because you, like another, have demanded
flesh in the ghost, hope in the host;
although you, like one other, are beach-stranded,
and anhungered and lost,
in
unappeasable need,
oh, die not in this place
of most you I have made.
There are no idols here, no hope delayed,
only longing and grace.
Even these are uncopeable friends,
they devour their old selves:
self-defeating and self-repeating,
the self toasting self, in longing, in grace:
and no amends.
Oh, die not in this place.
Here diminishes only,
with unspeakable longing,
unbeseechable grace.
