The Song of the Borderguard

The man with his lion under the shed of wars
Sheds his belief as if he shed tears.
The sound of words waits –
A barbarian host at the borderline of sense.

The enamord guards desert their posts
Harkening to the lion-smell of a poem
That rings in their ears.

-Dreams, a certain guard said
Were never designd so
To re-arrange an empire.

Along about six o’clock I take out my guitar
And sing to a lion
Who sleeps like a line of poetry
In the shed of wars.

The man shedding his belief
Knows that the lion is not asleep,
Does not dream, is never asleep,
Is a wide-awake poem
Waiting like a lover for the disrobing of the guard;
The beautil boundaries of the empire
Naked, rapt round in the smell of a lion.

(The barbarians have passt over the significant phrase)

-When I was asleep,
A certain guard says,
A man shed his clothes as if he shed tears
And appeard as a lonely lion
Waiting for a song under the shed-roof of wars.

I sang the song that he waited to hear,
I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet Acclaimd.

Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sang,
Believe, believe, believe, believe.
The shed of wars is splendid as the sky,
Houses our waiting like a pure song
Housing in its words the lion-smell
Of the beloved disrobed.

I sang: believe, believe, believe.

I the guard because of my guitar
Belive. I am the certain guard,
Certain of the Beloved, certain of the lion,
Certain of the Empire. I with my guitar.
Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sing.
I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet on Guard.

The borderlines of sense in the morning light
Are naked as a line of poetry in a war.

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