Tender is the Night
With all her forgotten beauty
People pass out of sight
On this summer midnight
Dogs, too, are missed,
One dog in particular.
Look! the serpent and the saviour sit
Somewhere in old-England.
No truth is hidden from our lady moon
No disguising her faint silvery tune.
Such wide-open rosy faces, faced the blackest of skies,
Gnarled hands shade frightened eyes,
1914: No, no, this is no time for disguise.
On this day of flowers, the animals follow
The usual path of the sun,
Ripples coagulate like blood,
All manner of things mirror our big brother sun
On this shining Ἀρκαδία of August 1914.
Sweet airs fill the breezes
Forgotten summer scents,
O! The billowing of intent
Reed and oak and beech
This beautiful canopy of the living green,
Mere, pond, lake, sky
Shimmering in this all-too bright light
Thunder clouds swarm on the far-horizon
Rumble out of sight then come by, speak again..
This is a world of endings
I climb this vertiginous cliff path,
Connects the now and then.
Seen in all its chasmal beauty
It is the end.
The brightest of stars
On the blackest of nights.:
Luck and love and lucidity
Far-out of sight.
The gates of heaven firmly closed
The gates of hell:a crowded place,