Bokardo
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ell, Bokardo, here we are;Make yourself at home.Look around--you haven't farTo look--and why be dumb?Not the place that used to be,Not so many things to see;But there's room for you and me.And you--you've come. Talk a little; or, if not,Show me with a signWhy it was that you forgotWhat was yours and mine.Friends, I gather, are small thingsIn an age when coins are kings;Even at that, one hardly flingsFriends before swine. Rather strong? I knew as much,For it made you speak.No offense to swine, as such,But why this hide-and-seek?You have something on your side,And you wish you might have died,So you tell me. And you triedOne night last week? You tried hard? And even thenFound a time to pause?When you try as hard again,You'll have another cause.When you find yourself at oddsWith all dreamers of all gods,You may smite yourself with rods--But not the laws. Though they seem to show a spiteRather devilish,They move on as with a mightStronger than your wish.Still, however strong they be,They bide man's authority:Xerxes, when he flogged the sea,May've scared a fish. It's a comfort, if you like,To keep honor warm,But as often as you strikeThe laws, you do no harm.To the laws, I mean. To you--That's another point of view,One you may as well indueWith some alarm. Not the most heroic faceTo present, I grant;Nor will you insure disgraceBy fearing what you want.Freedom has a world of sides,And if reason once deridesCourage, then your courage hidesA deal of cant. Learn a little to forgetLife was once a feast;You aren't fit for dying yet,So don't be a beast.Few men with a mind will say,Thinking twice, that they can payHalf their debts of yesterday,Or be released. There's a debt now on your mindMore than any gold?And there's nothing you can findOut there in the cold?Only--what's his name?--Remorse?And Death riding on his horse?Well, be glad there's nothing worseThan you have told. Leave Remorse to warm his handsOutside in the rain.As for Death, he understands,And he will come again.Therefore, till your wits are clear,Flourish and be quiet--here.But a devil at each earWill be a strain? Past a doubt they will indeed,More than you have earned.I say that because you needAblution, being burned?Well, if you must have it so,Your last flight went rather low.Better say you had to knowWhat you have learned. And that's over. Here you are,Battered by the past.Time will have his little scar,But the wound won't last.Nor shall harrowing surpriseFind a world without its eyesIf a star fades when the skiesAre overcast. God knows there are lives enough,Crushed, and too far goneLonger to make sermons of,And those we leave alone.Others, if they will, may rendThe worn patience of a friendWho, though smiling, sees the end,With nothing done. But your fervor to be freeFled the faith it scorned;Death demands a decencyOf you, and you are warned.But for all we give we getMostly blows? Don't be upset;You, Bokardo, are not yetConsumed or mourned. There'll be falling into viewMuch to rearrange;And there'll be a time for youTo marvel at the change.They that have the least to fearQuestion hardest what is here;When long-hidden skies are clear,The stars look strange.
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