Exit
For what we owe to other days,
Before we poisoned him with praise,
May we who shrank to find him weak
Remember that he cannot speak.
For envy that we may recall,
And for our faith before the fall,
May we who are alive be slow
To tell what we shall never know.
For penance he would not confess,
And for the fateful emptiness
Of early triumph undermined,
May we now venture to be kind.
Similar poems:
- Z213: Exit Page 5 A few hours more, station, deserted, a dirt road for inside the town, mud, mud, blankets outside, mouldering...
- To the maiden To the maiden The sea was blue meadow, Alive with little froth-people Singing. To the sailor, wrecked, The sea was...
- The Poor Relation No longer torn by what she knows And sees within the eyes of others, Her doubts are when the daylight...
- Softened by Time’s consummate plush Softened by Time’s consummate plush, How sleek the woe appears That threatened childhood’s citadel And undermined the years. Bisected now,...
- Jeanne d’Arc Returns 1914-1916 What hast thou done, O womanhood of France, Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife, What hast thou done, amid...
- Partnership Yes, you have it; I can see. Beautiful?… Dear, look at me! Look and let my shame confess Triumph after...
- The Judges Of The Little Box to Karl Max Ostojic Why do you stare at the little box That in her emptiness Holds the whole world...
- St. Peter and the Angel Delivered out of raw continual pain, Smell of darkness, groans of those others To whom he was chained Unchained, and...
- The Maiden’s Lament The clouds fast gather, The forest-oaks roar A maiden is sitting Beside the green shore, The billows are breaking with...
- The Evening Primrose You know the bloom, unearthly white, That none has seen by morning light- The tender moon, alone, may bare Its...
- Classical Indian Explanation: Music past the hippies Past Ravi Shankar Eons before When the first Asian snake Came alive Stiffened with sound Through some...
- Each Life Converges to some Centre Each Life Converges to some Centre Expressed or still Exists in every Human Nature A Goal Embodied scarcely to itself...
- An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, Upon His Brother’s Death Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen...
- Through Agony I All night, through the eternity of night, Pain was my potion though I could not feel. Deep in my...
- The Boat I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the Shore – Alas for me! The spring...
- The New Tenants The day was here when it was his to know How fared the barriers he had built between His triumph...
- At Thirty-Five Three score and ten, the psalmist saith, And half my course is well-nigh run; I’ve had my flout at dusty...
- With Whom is no Variableness, Neither Shadow of Turning It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe’er I stray and range, Whate’er...
- A World Without Objects is a Sensible Emptiness The tall camels of the spirit Steer for their deserts, passing the last groves loud With the sawmill shrill of...
- The Lute And The Lyre Deep desire, that pierces heart and spirit to the root, Finds reluctant voice in verse that yearns like soaring fire,...