Poetry Archives

I have known the most dear that is granted us here,
 More supreme than the gods know above,
Like a star I was hurled through the sweet of the world,
 And the height and the light of it, Love.
I have risen to the uttermost Heaven of Joy,
 I have sunk to the sheer Hell of Pain—
But—it’s not going to happen again, my boy,
 It’s not going to happen again.

It’s the very first word that poor Juliet heard
 From her Romeo over the Styx;
And the Roman will tell Cleopatra in hell
 When she starts her immortal old tricks;
What Paris was tellin’ for good-bye to Helen
 When he bundled her into the train—
Oh, it’s not going to happen again, old girl,
 It’s not going to happen again.