How else should God speak to man and man to God but Verse
and lofty lines of mind enough to lift a curse?
How soon and quick the heart descends
amid the flirty gay of morning tends
and all those daily eases of another’s vulgate sin.
Had I the power to rid them all
from glowing hearth and pictured wall
so ray it might redeem our fall,
think not a glinting, dying shine
be brief enough to outrun such crime.
For I, too, have sailed the seas of moon and star
and plumbed the depths of dark and far
to only want the earthy call her strong and steadfast arm.
First love she, and also He – should I have such capacity –
to bless a stone unmoving true: be brave, weak pulse,
and prune the vining-grew our twined eternity.
Enduring me she has and shall,
through flaming pride and thoughts afoul
quiet and patient as the grave
from whose sting her faith may one day stave.
Know I no mountaintop a man can stay
indefinitely and be not undone
nor can eyes behold the terror of sun
but tarry here in weighty this
and keep the lowing vale in thoughtless bliss:
“This life is best in You, and He, dear Verse,
though few can ever know or will
the eversoft feet our intricate universe.”
Devil walks into bar. Orders drink. Asks Philosopher sitting next to him: “And what do you do?”