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Poem	Henry in Ireland to Bill underground: Rest well, who worked so hard, who made a good sound constantly, for so many years: your high-jinks delighted the continents & our ears: you had so many girls your life was a triumph and you loved your one wife. At dawn you rose & wrote-”the books poured forth-” you delivered infinite babies, in one great birth-” and your generosity to juniors made you deeply loved, deeply: if envy was a Henry trademark, he would envy you, especially the being through. Too many journeys lie for him ahead, too many galleys & page-proofs to be read, he would like to lie down in your sweet silence, to whom was not denied the mysterious late excellence which is the crown of our trials & our last bride.
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