England in June attire
And life born young again
For your gay goatish brute . . .
Lips dark with juicy stain,
Ears hung with bobbing fruit?
Why should I keep him time?
Why in this cold and rime,
Where even to dream is pain?
No, Robert, there's no reason;
Cherries are out of season,
Ice grips at branch and root,
And singing birds are mute.
His range is from Strong Beer to Christ, but is rather of theme than of mood, another hint of a more set character. Here is some half-mystical nonsense on the temptation in the wilderness:
"He held communion
With the she-pelican
Of lonely piety.
Basilisk, cockatrice,
Flocked to his homilies,
With mail of dread device, . . .
With eager dragon eyes;
And ever with him went . . .
Comrade, with ragged coat,
Gaunt ribs—poor innocent— . . .
The guileless old scapegoat;
For forty nights and days
Followed in Jesus' ways,
Sure guard behind Him kept,
Tears like a lover wept."
He confesses that even at trystings with a lady a third is always present.
THE SPOIL-SPORT
My familiar ghost again
Comes to see what he can see,
Critic, son of Conscious Brain,
Spying on our privacy.
