4.29.2012

The Censer

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Anger, said he, anger and rage!
It comes like as comes smoke blowing
For he who breathes oft is not knowing
Of when he turned the page
Of when ended that summer age
When winter's wind came blowing
The hungry cattle come, lowing
Out of barren places, cold
Cold of ageless gnawing and old
And even those who rage not at God
Even they must think it odd
When hot temper steps forth bold
But what for those who bought and sold
Who wore spots like those who gnawed
That smeared their faces of grimy sod?
Do not the beloved not shout at them?
But are they not, though lowly, men?
But injustice is blood on earth's face
Calling out to him, calling out to grace
Asking for how long, asking for when
When the graceless age shall end
Not for revenge; or pride apace
Do they violently, run this race
And sing as poets, these battle songs
For when time ends and ends the wrongs
But the greatest mountain is then love
Climb its heights, and care not of
When the sweetly scented prayer prolongs
The censer's release, above the throngs
Comes down as did the form of dove
For a moment the below as above
That living light, that making song
Becomes at last, a beautiful bomb.

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