Classic Poem

A previous night is now,
Its passion without desire,
In the mind, a commonplace
Of not forgetting,
On the tongue, an automatic sentiment.
The allegiance is: it was so.
The treason: I survive.

I have my history present like this,
As I have my body,
Employ memory like limbs,
Without repine to move away,
Look down, seem where I was.

And of such furious standstill
I may escape at last to when
No previous night is now,
Time having caught up somehow.