7 APRIL 1933, Page 13

Two Deaths

What spirit's agony lies bent Between the interval of birth And the cool fathomless descent To the cool oracle of earth ?

The lucid emptiness of dawn Lies frozen on the first release And on the last decline is drawn The love's despair, the frustrate peace.

From naught released, to naught destroyed, No single spark survives the fire Yet how within the tortures void The spirit sighs its brief desire 0 who can tell what cleansing sword Might pierce this body of this breath ? In the beginning lies the word And in the word the voice of death.

FREDERIC PROKOSCIL