All Things

All things had tried to tempt me from my art

But none succeeded, for I was clear, could put

My world in order as my reason eased itself

In application of its visual desires, the order

Of its commonsense.  Whilst side by side irreconcilable without

Priority of place or frank denunciation, the et ceteras

Of fancy in temporary peace arranged themselves

Prepared to lie at rest, at least a little while.  I was content,

For with the hand that order made thro’ eyes’ decision

I gained a new world, immobilised the better part of me,

And with the mind that stood aside I learned

Of patience to forgo that I could not have.  Yet all that

Have you altered.  The sense within you of being yourself

Alone, with occasional proximity could foreclose my peace

And substitute the drama of great chaos, the wonderment

Of infinite accomplishment, sometime and end the finite of today.

But in that change I saw no wrong, the greater way in

Any life should lead, and tied to you the mind tho’ lost

In unfamiliar country, ploughed with joy about the earthly obstacles,

And when it struggled most in some despair, would likely find

Itself such wings of fancy, such flights of happiness and joy

As made its one-time prized stability a country pleasure,

A fooI’s delight.  You brought me life in great variety, without

Much trouble to yourself.  I could read in you, yes, in

Your woman’s face a whole continuum of proposed delight

And prepared to enter it.  Yet still I stand without.

The bric-a-brac of my character, poor ill-assorted parts

Allow of no such programme.  I admit the fault lies there.

You took the art I had, not intending, I gave it freely

Not begrudging, it seemed a little thing by clear comparison

But still in doubt, you keep it by your side, it is not mine.

You also keep yourself, you wiser, kept your heart, it is not mine.