As it happens, I've been reading Beddoes'
Death's Jest Book recently, and while I can't really recommend the play as a whole (it's bloated and repetitive), I can see why CAS admired Beddoes as a poet. Much of the play is little more than an extended obsession with mortality, but there are some moments of real poetic beauty scattered throughout, as in this example from Act Two, Scene III:
Quote:Nature's polluted.
There's man in every secret corner of her,
Doing damned wicked deeds. Thou art old, world,
A hoary atheistic murderous star:
I wish that thou would'st die, or could'st be slain,
Hell-hearted bastard of the sun.