in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
whenever i find myself growing grim about the mouth... whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul... whenever i find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral i meet and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people's hats off...then i account it high time to get to sea as soon as i can.
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