(Nonasyllabics)

In retrospect the tragic nature
of sea is a taste wept too daily,
too depleted by freedom's rupture;
the eyes have other secrets to see

and deeper use for the detritus
within us: the bright effluvium
of ego dries up, mired as it is
in wealth, that remedial medium.

Blame it on fate, on beach memories--
pebble put in the pocket or shell
fragments; any memento carries
us as much as we it. Time capsule

contains every evening's interval.
The ocean observes its own puddle.

My boy, as long as your cheeks and chin are smooth, I shall never
Cease to praise you, not even if I am fated to die.
For you, the giver, it is still honorable, and for me as lover it is not shameful
To ask. But I beseech you, in the name of my parents:
Show me respect, my boy, and grant me favor. If in time to come,
Craving in your turn the gift of the violet-crowned
Cyprian, you shall approach another, then may the gods
Grant that you meet with just such words as I hear now.

To you I have given wings, on which you may fly aloft
Above the boundless sea and all the earth
With ease. At feasts and banquets you will be present
On all occasions, lying in the mouths of many,
And to the clear-toned sound of pipes young men
With seemly grace and loveliness, their voices fair and clear,
Will sing of you. And when beneath the hollows of the murky earth
You go to Hades' halls ringing with lamentation,
Not even then, though dead, will you ever lose your fame; instead, you will be known

Faint white pillars that seem to fade
As you look from here are the first one sees
Of his house where it hides and dies in a shade
Of beeches and oaks and hickory trees.
Now many a man, given woods like these,
And a house like that, and the Briony gold,
Would have said, "There are still some gods to please,
And houses are built without hands, we're told.

There are the pillars, and all gone gray.
Briony's hair went white. You may see
Where the garden was if you come this way.
That sun-dial scared him, he said to me;

I count the mercifullest part of all
God's mercies, in this coil of eighty years,
Is that no sense of being disappears
Or fails; I see the signal, hear the call,
Can calmly estimate the rise and fall
Of moth-like mortals in this "vale of tears";
And all His glorious works--the heavenly spheres,
The ocean, and the earth's unending wall--
Remain, for thought and wonder! Marvellous
Is God's creation, with its endless space
And those inhabited bright worlds by law
Divinely governed, as they shine on us,

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.

Murmur of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs,
Nor hammer back a season in the figs,
But graft these four-fruited ridings on your country;
Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues,
By red-eyed orchards sow the seeds of snow,
In your young years the vegetable century.

Time, the Jester, jeers at you;
Your life's a fleeting breath;
Your birthday's flimsy I.O.U.
To that old devil, Death.
And though to glory you attain,
Or be to beauty born,
Your pomp and vanity are vain:
Time ticks you off with scorn.
II
Time, the Cynic, sneers at you,
And stays you in your stride;
He flouts the daring deeds you do,
And pillories your pride.
The triumph of your yesterday
He pages with the Past;
He taunts you with the grave's decay
And calls the score at last.
III
All this I now, yet what care I!

624

Forever—it composed of Nows—
'Tis not a different time—
Except for Infiniteness—
And Latitude of Home—

From this—experienced Here—
Remove the Dates—to These—
Let Months dissolve in further Months—
And Years—exhale in Years—

Without Debate—or Pause—
Or Celebrated Days—
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Domini's—

I

With you I shall ever be;
Over land and sea
My thoughts will companion you;
With yours shall my laughter chime,
And my step keep time
In the dusk and dew
With yours in blithesome rhyme;
In all of your joy shall I rejoice,
On my lips your sorrow shall find a voice,
And when your tears in bitterness fall
Mine shall mingle with them all;
With you in waking and dream I shall be,
In the place of shadow and memory,
Under young springtime moons,
And on harvest noons,
And when the stars are withdrawn

all the forbidden fruit I ever
dreamt of--or was taught to
resist and fear--ripens and
blossoms under the palms of my
hands as they uncover and explore
you--and in the most secret
corners of my heart as it discovers
and adores you--the forbidden fruit
of forgiveness--the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn't deserve--
the forbidden fruit of my life's labor
--the just payment I have avoided
since my father taught me how--
the forbidden fruit of the secret
language of our survivors' souls as