between matter and principle 279
This is my agony.
And blizzards cannot break
These boughs I build to be,
In weathering, awake.
Far down the August light,
Clouds form and shift at ease;
They're not free either, yet
Edge me in distances.
Come closer -- touch my bark,
Smoke-silver and so thin
Your nail can shred it; dark,
The heartwood's just within.
Now you've begun, go on.
I am. I cannot mean,
Mere growth. Have me cut down,
Caught in a motive, seen
In, say, a little chest,
Rip-sawed, cross-cut, and planed
For a small good, to last,
Stopped, in a living end,
Disclosed by changeless lines,
Lampglow on my deep red;
Have among your designs
My minor fragrance freed.
socrates entranced
Supper and wine; but where
Is their friend Socrates?
Out on the thoroughfare;