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Alchemist, v. 1, issue 4, December 1940
Back cover
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We are the drowned dead. To use no sight / Or sound from upper-worldly realms seeps through; / No blessed glimpse of dawn-sky, palely blue; / No song of crickets in the evening-light. / But silence, and the luminescent white / Of crusted bones of some forgotten crew. / That lie with ours. Our bones, our flesh that knows / Tumultuous fear, delirious delight! / And now, in cold, green silentness, our hair / Waves to and fro above the ocean floor. / These lips have kissed, these legs have walked the shore; / These eyes have seen a world sun-bright and fair. / And now, with weary, sightless eyes we stare / At things that were, but are for us no more.
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We are the drowned dead. To use no sight / Or sound from upper-worldly realms seeps through; / No blessed glimpse of dawn-sky, palely blue; / No song of crickets in the evening-light. / But silence, and the luminescent white / Of crusted bones of some forgotten crew. / That lie with ours. Our bones, our flesh that knows / Tumultuous fear, delirious delight! / And now, in cold, green silentness, our hair / Waves to and fro above the ocean floor. / These lips have kissed, these legs have walked the shore; / These eyes have seen a world sun-bright and fair. / And now, with weary, sightless eyes we stare / At things that were, but are for us no more.
Hevelin Fanzines
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