1.17.2014

Antony

it is addressed thusly:
An ode
it reads:
I did not come to the city, it came while I slept
Covering the places where secrets once were kept
The sun and the moon, the stars and the night
That naught but the fire would give its light
And the seasons would recede into warm and cold
The crowd! The crowd which could turn all youth old
Treading down the meadows, treading down the lanes
Hanging up their shingles, setting up their fanes
But I did not act; and stayed just where I was
Harried by the hurried, blind and deaf from the buzz
I had nothing of my own, not what we used to call
No keep, no orchard, no appointed feasting hall
I had only my heart, my keys and my only God
I had but for the moment, the earth on which I trod
They call me anachronism, they call me costume play
I am sometimes considered dangerous, deluded if they may
Though I fast and pray, having hardly air to breathe
Still like a stupid pillar, I stay and do not leave
Until I woke one morning, to a disconcerting theft
While I was sleeping, the city took itself, and left!

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