O elements of strife why fight you so?
Have not you power to stop, and power to know?
The moon is constant for an example
And the bounty of goodness is ever ample.
Why, I have wondered in the licking rain
How it is that any thy combat has to gain;
Except when the inky darkness says 'Hold!'
Or the terrible scourge spreads like infecting mould.
Why test in each other disharmony
When about there is music like a symphony
Of conducing and marbling paints on pelf,
The very essence of the divine God Himself?
Or the stars that peep like Pegasus high
Wheeling in the firmament and wandering by;
Yet fear of thee curtails often the love
Which for thy temperate natures' would glove
Yourselves in the esteem assigned to gold,
Which the universe all is streaked over with bold.
Like an inward tumult dreamt the ill man,
And received a stange Inspiration's plan,
Haunting the night shades in a remote town,
Hearing all the echos of houses down,
In warmed environment, family games,
And all that fancy can offer for names.
Yet still this grieved his thoughts to dwell
In the darkened vineyards plucking on grapes,
Not quite knowing where to walk due to shapes,
Fierce mistaking the mind's imagined hell,
In every whispered wind were fearful actions,
In every little tree lurked some villains,
It seemed but to test ferocity's fist
Which, being thrown, a narrow instinct missed.
A walk in the pouring rain is a good
I most enjoy through an overcoat hood,
To hear the pattering bath on my head,
And feel on me the washing trails are fed
In each other like estuaries running
Along my neck by its rivers kissing,
Their dancing in frolic off both my hands
Delights me with pleasure faith understands;
A purest prayer of supple enjoyment,
And wetted relief of heats' deployment.
So when I look about me and see tears
Cleaning away all the tumult of years,
I feel no solemn pang, no intermixt,
Or contaminated agony fixed,
But only a rejoicing found in grief,
That proliferating and subtle thief,
For he will return his crystals of light,
Burdens he stole us away in the night;
He is a Robin Hood who steals to give,
And makes far more of deprivement to live.
Drop of light in drop of water,
Life in you is God's dear daughter;
How like a marble of colours fly
The sighting seeing of your eye.
Your globe of orbit in the wind
Would shudder on the man who sinned,
And make him shudder twice to feel
Your purest, dearest, medicine heal,
Even he, though low and vulgar,
Chanced remission on his shoulder.
Drop of light in drop of water,
Blessed are we, my God's dear daughter.
Some bad divulgence I cannot contain,
And as the drunkard on alcohol sips,
By studied practice I have to retain
What I would rather express in public,
For a relief to my suffering heart.
It is a terrible thing to be sad
With the memory of others' madness,
It is a wonderful thing to be glad,
With the memory of others' gladness.
Too long I have had to cover deceit,
With my sympathy's protective blankets,
The damp of these others' secrets secrete,
And I cannot be beguiled with trinkets.
When everyone looks beautified in fleet
Glances passed, and free is the mind of cares
And strangers exchange interested looks and airs
And every sound is a simpering sweet!
A sleep without a dream,
New music without a sound,
The sky without the ground;
A darkness without the morn,
Mothers without the born,
Suffering without the pain,
Sanity turned insane;
Experience lost to time,
Virtue disgraced to crime,
Bodies without their motion,
Rains without an ocean.
Over my ill eyes, destroy
The perceptions of life's rapture,
All aspects of former joy.
My life was continued sorrow,
My death an unfair act,
An early and torturing blow
A final destroying fact.
Death, the knell ringer,
Off to oblivion I go,
Where Hades' ghost boats row,
To forget everything I knew
And disappear from view.
Nevermore to see this shore,
Or sing a song of yore;
But fail into a young man's grave,
Which God alone can save
In His own immortality
Sparing man's inanity.
Let it pass, the drying grass,
Empty on another glass,
But carry through with selfish thought,
My soul is rendered thus to nought.
I know my people won't despair
Because they lack for me all care,
I know unloved I lived and die,
That spinning hatreds pass me by;
I recognise my fate is ill,
That never had I loving's thrill,
That unlamented I must fall,
And live belittled by one and all.
So in loose verse I write my longings,
Surrounded by my few belongings;
Books I cannot read or write,
Papers scattered, heaped in sight,
Shards of faded memory,
Scraps of wasted energy.
Between the foot of the man and the gate.
The man he blinked, but handled its leather,
Then plucked it from the ground as a feather.
Thus bearing divine armament he fought,
The hordes the opposing armies had brought
For counter conquest, all failing he strewed
Their bodies in piles of straw lately hewed.
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment