Say to the lover when the lane
Thrills through its leaves to feel her feet,
“You only feel what smashed the slime
When the first monstrous brutes could meet.”
Shall not the lover laugh and say
(Whom God gives season to be gay),
“Well for those monsters long ago
If that be so; but was it so?”

Say to the mother when the son
First springs and stiffens as for fight,
“So under that green roof of scum
The tadpole is the frog’s delight,
So deep your brutish instincts lie.”
She will laugh loud enough and cry,
“Then the poor frog is not so poor.
O happy frog! But are you sure?”

Ye learned, ye that never laugh,
But say, “Such love and litany
Hailed Isis; and such men as you
Danced by the cart of Cybele,”
Shall not I say, “Your cart at least
Goes far before your horse, poor beast.
Like Her! You flatter them maybe.
What do you think you do to me?”

— (1918-25).

Published in: on July 18, 2012 at 7:11 am  Leave a Comment  

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