I’m not much nourished by modern love,
will you come into my life
with your sorrow and your black carriages,
And your perfect
the Twentieth Century belongs to you and me.
Let us be two severe giants not less lonely for our partnership,
who discolour test tubes in the halls of Science,
who turn up unwelcome at every World’s Fair,
heavy with proverbs and corrections,
confusing the star-dazed tourists
with our incomparable sense of loss.