The Marble Faun and A Green Bough
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Scarce First Random House Edition, 1960. Ex-library hardcover with dustjacket, usual ex-library markings, stamps etc.
The Marble Faun, Copyright, 1924, by The Four Seas Company, and Renewed 1952, by William Faulkner. A Green Bough, Copyright, 1933, and Renewed 1960, by William Faulkner. FIRST RANDOM HOUSE EDITION All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in New York by Random House, Inc., and in Toronto, Canada, by Random House of Canada Limited. eISBN: 978-0-307-87380-4 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-27492 v3.1 Contents Cover Title
swam downward And he was lapped in azure seas; The dream that hurt him, the blood that whipped him Dustward, slowed and gave him ease. Behind him day lay stark with labor Of him who strives with earth for bread; Before him sleep, tomorrow his circling Sinister shadow about his head. But now, with night, this was forgotten: Phantoms of breath round man swim fast; Forgotten his father, Death; Derision His mother, forgotten by her at last. Nymph and faun in this dusk might riot
firelight steadily hums, steadily wheeling Until his brain, stretched and tautened, suddenly cracks. Play something else. And laxly sees his brain Whirl to infinite fragments, like brittle sparks, Vortex together again, and whirl again. Play something else. He tries to keep his tone Lightly natural, watching the shadows thrown, Watching the timid shadows near her throat Link like hands about her from the dark. His eyes like hurried fingers fumble and fly About the narrow bands
silence from her heart again. Laxly reclining, he feels the firelight beating A clamor of endless waves upon the dark, A swiftly thunderous surf swiftly retreating. His brain falls hissing from him, a spark, a spark, And his eyes like hurried fingers fumble and fly Among the timid shadows near her throat, About the narrow bands with which her dress is caught, And lightly trace the line of back and thigh. He sees his brain disintegrate, spark by spark, And she turns as if she heard two
carrying dung there was no time to drop the general himself is now on tour somewhere in the states telling about the war and here battalioned crosses in a pale parade the german burned his dead (which goes to show god visited him with proper wrath) o spring above unsapped convolvulae of hills april a bee sipping perplexed with pleasure o spring o wanton o cruel o bitter and new as fire baring to the curved and hungry hand of march your white unsubtle thighs grass his feet no