Стихи и эссе

So an age ended, and its last deliverer died
In bed, grown idle and unhappy; they were safe:
The sudden shadow of a giant's enormous calf
Would fall no more at dusk across their lawns outside.

They slept in peace: in marshes here and there no doubt

A sterile dragon lingered to a natural death,
But in a year the slot had vanished from the heath;
A kobold's knocking in the mountain petered out.

Only the sculptors and the poets were half-sad,

And the pert retinue from the magician's house
Grumbled and went elsewhere. The vanquished powers were glad

To be invisible and free; without remorse

Struck down the silly sons who strayed into their course,
And ravished the daughters, and drove the fathers mad.

[140]

Epitaph for the Unknown Soldier

To save your world you asked this man to die:
Would this man, could he see you now, ask why?

Base words are uttered

Base words are uttered only by the base
And can for such at once be understood,
But noble platitudes:-ah, there's a case
Where the most careful scrutiny is needed
To tell a voice that's genuinely good
From one that's base but merely has succeeded.

We're Late

Clocks cannot tell our time of day
For what event to pray
Because we have no time, because
We have no time until
We know what time we fill,
Why time is other than time was.
Nor can our question satisfy
The answer in the statue's eye:
Only the living ask whose brow
May wear the Roman laurel now;
The dead say only how.

What happens to the living when we die?

Death is not understood by Death; nor You, nor I.

The door

Out of steps the future of the poor,
Enigmas, execuOut of steps tioners and rules,
Her Majesty in a bad temper or
The red-nosed Fool who makes a fool of fools.
Great person eye it in the twilight for
A past it might so carelessly let in,
A widow with a missionary grin,
The foaming inundation at a roar.
We pile our all against it when afraid,
And beat upon its panel when we die:
By happening to be open ones, it made
Enormous Alice see in wonderland
That waited for her in the sunshine, and,
Simply by being tiny, made her cry.

No time

Clocks cannot tell our time of day
For what event to pray,
Because we have no time, because
We have no time until
We know what time we fill,
Why time is other than time was.
Nor can our question satisfy
The answer in the statue’s eye.
Only the living ask whose brow
May wear the roman laurel now:
The dead say only how.
What happens to the living when they die?
Death is not understood by death: nor you, nor I.

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