Indigo indignities! The words are like a mermaid and a saint Doubting each other’s existence with a kiss. _Poet_ The words of most men kiss With satiated familiarity. Indigo is dark and vehement, But one word in place of two Angers barmaids and critics. _Undertaker_ Straining after originality You argue with its ghost! A simple beauty, like morning Harnessed by a wide sparkle And plodding into the hearts of men, Cannot reach your frantic juggling. _Poet_ I can appreciate The spontaneous redundancy of nature Without the aid of an echo From men who lack her impersonal size. _Undertaker_ The sweeping purchase of an evening By an army of stars; The bold incoherence of love; The peaceful mountain-roads of friendship-- These things evade your dexterous epigrams! _Poet_ A statue, polished and large, Dominates when it stands alone. Placed in a huge profusion of statues Its outlines become humiliated. Simplicity demands one gesture And men give it endless thousands. Complexity wanders through a forest, Glimpsing details in the gloom. _Undertaker_ I do not crave the dainty pleasure Of chasing ghosts in a forest! Nor do I care to pluck Exaggerated mushrooms in the gloom. I have lost myself on roads Crossed by tossing hosts of men. Pain and anger have scorched our slow feet: Peace has washed our foreheads. _Poet_ Futility, massive and endless, Captures a stumbling grandeur Embalmed in history. In my forest you could see this From a distance and lose Your limited intolerance. Simplicity and subtlety At different times are backgrounds for each other, Changing with the position of our eyes. Death will burn your eyes With his taciturn complexity. _Undertaker_ Death will strike your eyes With his wild simplicity! _Poet_ Words are soldiers of fortune Hired by different ideas To provide an importance for life But within the glens of silence They meet in secret peace.... Undertaker, do you make of death A puffing wretch forever pursued By duplicates of vanquished forms? Or do you make him a sneering King Brushing flies from his bloodless cheeks? Do you see him as an unappeased brooding Walking over the dust of men? Do you make him an eager giant Discovering and blending into his consciousness The tiny parts of his limitless mind? _Undertaker_ Death and I do not know each other. I am the stolid janitor Who cleans the litter he has left And claims a fancied payment. _Poet_ Come to my fantastic forest And you will not need to rise From simple labours, asking death For final wages. EMOTIONAL MONOLOGUE