The Last Word

HERE I sit with eighty years 1Buried somewhere in my bones. I can only see the world 1Move along in monotones. All the peril of the sun 1And the laughter too are done. (Hear the fools there in the passage 1Talk of larger vision won!)

Grace o' God, can they not see 1That the wisdom comes too late? Oh, my heart is bitter full 1Of reflections delicate On the beauty that is truth, 1On the art that saves, forsooth. (Hear the fools there in the passage 1Mourn the blindness of their youth!)

I have lived the utter life, 1Loved the color, loved the word, Let no light die unresisting, 1Let no far flute fail unheard. All my days and nights are lit 1With a secret exquisite (Hear the little voice come calling 1All the weary pain of it!)

Little voice that used to laugh, 1Little voice that used to sing— Somewhere in those eighty years— 1Lullaby and love-longing. I must listen, I must weep 1For the voice I could not keep. (Oh, the silence of the darkness 1Where was breath of her asleep!)

Here they come to bring me praise, 1Here they come, there they go, Lauding loud the work I've done, 1Books a-many in a row. And they envy me and sigh, 1And they think those books are I. Fools there, with some heart to love you, 1Pass the larger wisdom by!