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.





Related poetry:
- Z213: Exit Page 5 A few hours more, station, deserted, a dirt road for inside the town, mud, mud, blankets outside, mouldering […]...
- The Poor Relation No longer torn by what she knows And sees within the eyes of others, Her doubts are when the daylight […]...
- Partnership Yes, you have it; I can see. Beautiful?… Dear, look at me! Look and let my shame confess Triumph after […]...
- Sardis (Revelations, iii. 1-6) “Write to Sardis,” saith the Lord, “And write what He declares, He whose Spirit, and whose word, […]...
- To the maiden To the maiden The sea was blue meadow, Alive with little froth-people Singing. To the sailor, wrecked, The sea was […]...
- Golden Days Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all […]...
- Willard Fluke My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled […]...
- Quia Absurdum Guard yourself from the terrible empty light of space, the bottomless Pool of the stars. (Expose yourself to it: you […]...
- The Fabulists When all the world would keep a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd, Men write in […]...
- Some Like Poetry Write it. Write. In ordinary ink On ordinary paper: they were given no food, They all died of hunger. “All. […]...
- There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to […]...
- The Instructor At times when under cover I ‘ave said, To keep my spirits up an’ raise a laugh, ‘Earin ‘im pass […]...
- 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 […]...
- 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, […]...
- Walt Whitman The master-songs are ended, and the man That sang them is a name. And so is God A name; and […]...
- The New Tenants The day was here when it was his to know How fared the barriers he had built between His triumph […]...
- Jehovah-Rophi. I Am the Lord That Healeth Thee (Exodus, xv.26) Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, Waiting to feel Thy touch: Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair And, Saviour, […]...
- Hymn 6 Triumph over death. Job 19:25-27. Great God, I own thy sentence just, And nature must decay; I yield my body […]...
- 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 […]...
- John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I […]...
- 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 […]...
- Poet's Path My garden hath a slender path With ivy overgrown, A secret place where once would pace A pot all alone; […]...
- Classical Indian Explanation: Music past the hippies Past Ravi Shankar Eons before When the first Asian snake Came alive Stiffened with sound Through some […]...
- My God! O let me call Thee mine! My God! O let me call Thee mine! Weak wretched sinner though I be, My trembling soul would fain be […]...
- Tom The Lunatic Sang old Tom the lunatic That sleeps under the canopy: ‘What change has put my thoughts astray And eyes that […]...
- 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 […]...
- The Boat I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the Shore – Alas for me! The spring […]...
- The Oven Bird There is a singer everyone has heard, Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks […]...
- Between Us Now Between us now and here Two thrown together Who are not wont to wear Life’s flushest feather Who see the […]...
- The Declaration of London We were all one heart and one race When the Abbey trumpets blew. For a moment’s breathing-space We had forgotten […]...
- The Truth of Woman Woman’s faith, and woman’s trust – Write the characters in the dust; Stamp them on the running stream, Print them […]...
- Impromptu, to Lady Winchelsea In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore, And cite those Sapho’s we admire no more: Fate doom’d the Fall […]...
- 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 […]...
- 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 […]...
- Lovers You were glad to-night: and now you’ve gone away. Flushed in the dark, you put your dreams to bed; But […]...
- Style Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no subject And be sustained upon the style […]...
- Sainte-Nitouche Though not for common praise of him, Nor yet for pride or charity, Still would I make to Vanderberg One […]...
- Sonnet XLI: Why Do I Speak of Joy Love’s Lunacy Why do I speak of joy, or write of love, When my heart is the very den of […]...