Final Assembly (post Dec 17)
The unpurged images of term recede
And, hark, the herald angels with dirty faces
Sing in excruciation.
They get younger each year and I,
To serve them half my days resolved,
Get no younger with them.
The praised boy who fishwise leapt with joy
Five Christmas terms ago
Grins at the clapping school now, sardonic.
Where has he gone - are we going - so fast?
O Jesus! still these discordant Years,
That carping torn, that gong-tormented Sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment