| THE SILKWORMS All their lives in a box! What generations, What centuries of masters, not meaning to be cruel, But heeding their labor, taught these creatures such patience, That now though sunlight strikes on the eye�s dark jewel, Or moonlight breathes on the wing, they do not stir. But like the ghosts of moths, crouch silent there. Look, it�s a child�s toy! There is no lid even. They can climb, they can fly, and all the world�s their tree; But hush, they say in themselves, we are in prison. There is no word to tell them that they are free, And they are not; ancestral voices bind them In dream too deep for wind or word to find them. Even in the young, each like a little dragon, Ramping and green upon his mulberry leaf, So full of life, it seems, the voice has spoken: They hide where there is food, where they are safe, And the voice whispers �Spin the cocoon, Sleep, sleep, you shall be wrapped in me soon.� Now is their time, when they wake from that long swoon; Their pale curled wings are marked in a pattern of leaves, Shadowy for trees, white for the dance of the moon; And when on summers nights the buddeia gives It�s nectar like lilac wine for insects mating, They drink its fragrance, and shiver, impatient with waiting. They stir, they think they will go. Then they remember, It was forbidden, forbidden, ever to go out. The Hands are on guard, outside like claps of thunder, The ancestral voice says Don�t, and they do not. Still the night calls them to unimaginable bliss, But there is terror around them, the vast, the abyss. And here is the tribe that they know, in their known place, They are gentle and kind together, they are safe forever, And all shall be answered at last when they embrace. White moth moves closer to moth, lover to lover. There is a pang of joy on the edge of dying - Their soft wings whir; they dream that they are flying. --------------------- SUICIDE NOTE Dear World. I am leaving you, Because I am bored. I am leaving you with your worries. Good luck. ------------- The dove on yon withered bough, That lately mourned her murdered mate, Has found another comrade now - Such changes all await! Again her drooping plume is drest, Again she�s willing to be blest And takes her lover to her nest. If nature has decreed it so, With all above, and all below, Let us like them forget our woe, And not be killed with sorrow. If I should quit your arms tonight, And chance to die before �twas light, I would advise you - and you might - Love again tomorrow. ------------------------- EXPERIENCE The lords of life, the lords of life, I saw the pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim, Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift, and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name; - Some to see, some to be guessed, They marched from east to west: Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look. Him by the hand dear Nature took, Dearest Nature, strong and kind, Whispered, �darling, never mind! Tomorrow they will wear another face, The founder thou, these are thy race!� |
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