[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 19]

Poems[1] for Panthea.    29/XI/12

My hands lie dumb alongside my soul;

     This is my gestureless hour…

Touch word of thine is a knell’s dole.

Such motion of thine a fallen faded glower…

Let me lapse for thee, let thy glance

Show thou hast not a thought of me…

O to feel the foreign, nor absence

At thine idea of me… Free

I might thus |return back| to hope,

Fall back or have the dark night

And have at length no other super

Of soul than care and {…}

[19v]

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Mother, my cheeks are †!

Let down my brain and kiss

My brow… Is there a yet 

For my {…} bliss?

     Lullaby to me, mother,

     Lullaby to me:

     I loved and was not loved, know this

     Kiss me and let me be.

Let me sleep as of old, thy hand

In my brow so calm and so deep

That I feel ’t on my soul[2]

With thy breath on face of my sleep

     I’m like[3] a little ship, mother,

     Lost in a big[4] sea

     Lullaby to us not,

     Lullaby to me.

 
[1] Poems /Songs\
[2] my soul /my soul famed\
[3] like /but\
[4] in a big /out in the\