He makes a monument from clay He urges men to throw away. He knots a strangle-net of words To catch and silence singing birds. But he flies free and he grows strong On words that stilled their wing and song. Succor, indeed, he gives an host And pity -- but his own heart most. His deepest need becomes a fear Disguised by ribaldry and sneer -- And so with woman he rudely fights, Envious of higher flights, Desiring under false contempt The secret of her firmament. |