Chord
A man steps out of sunlight,
sunlight that streams like grace,
. . .
A man steps out of sunlight,
sunlight that streams like grace,
. . .
O wearisome condition of humanity!
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot and yet forbidden vanity;
. . .
We live in secret cities
And we travel unmapped roads.
. . .
The morning comes, and thickening clouds prevail,
Hanging like curtains all the horizon round,
Or overhead in heavy stillness sail; . . .
A strong song tows
us, long earsick.
Blind, we follow . . .
Man, the egregious egoist,
(In mystery the twig is bent,)
Imagines, by some mental twist, . . .
Come into animal presence.
No man is so guileless as
the serpent. The lonely white . . .
September was when it began.
Locusts dying in the fields; our dogs
Silent, moving like shadows on a wall; . . .
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood . . .
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves . . .