Wherever hangest a fruit of heaven,
If thou wert to come upon it someday,
surely shalt thou taste its nectar,
and on thy palette shall not reside
ecstasy, for it beist most evanescent,
faith, for is thine most capricious,
love, for it bears concupiscence,
but loss, for thou shalt cherish a memory.
He hast not felt a woman’s touch,
nor purest wine has had its may.
Too foolish he, in fact a child,
to dearest death no longer virgin.
Who among us, far as One most sagacious
can ever tell apart, with a word most certain
living from breathing, one cruel from gracious
hard ashes from dreams, a veil from a curtain.
O Raise not thy gaze at a visage proud,
that be’est fate, my most ingenuous dupe,
set instead thy gaze at yon found
very end to which life must stoop.
Listen my progeny, as I know not of joy
so when’st thou giggle I feel only grief,
and might I add thou art a bastardly boy,
I abhorr thee at best, regret thou in brief.
Lead thou I may, but I swear not to days,
of enduring peace or of eternal wonder,
I merely lead, perhaps to uncertain ways,
and I only lead unto prospects under.
Argue of nations with lesser a founding?
inheritors least of morals in standing?
children that came at moments misfortune
yet fathered not same an era withstanding?
But see my rascal, the same is not true,
though if even it be, I do hardly agree
for agree I shan’t in opinions lieu,
and agree I must in opinions dreamt free.
If thou recoil’est at the sight of me,
I wish you to witness all that I hath,
what people unto people thus dole unto thee
the children of eve, the dogs of days wrath.
Ti’s a pity for pity to not find,
in an hour such as this its way
to those who adhered in its hind
and lead the bleak souls of dismay,
from fates blackened, vacant hope,
joyless aim, and aimless hunger,
into such hopes which did elope
with equal lives fore them asunder.
Doth not suffice for wretchedness
to have such monuments in woe,
but as its wonting shall it dress
all glory red, for us to know.
I watch their children emerging
with languid eyes and weary airs
from their fathers side weeping
to bleed in their due place unfair.
I hope for children of their thence
I fear for children their instead
host to fates made recompense
for our fates all else I dread.
Who are they, who muffled suffer,
tears of whom know slumber none,
life whom perchance silenced utter
which hath found its rest in some,
for those in whom is yet to set,
those who have not yet to feign
apathy to the breath of death
I fear have found in departing gain.
Poems & People 