FOUR POEMS
The past dies, save for those whom it has broken;
They will rememher whom the world has maimed .
Let them be silent! Things must not be spoken
Which hide deep in the thought of man, ashamed:
Or, if their lips are bitter and inflamed,
Let them speak all by symbol and by token.
3·
Still young, our faces may deceive
Your eyes, ironic in their gaze: ·
Since we have learned no more to grieve
We must have entered a maturer phase.
We must be growing old; indeed,
We must, since we accept the fair
And foul, the open heart and greed,
Goodness and malice both without despair.
There was a time we pounded gates,
Called down interminable stairs,
Denounced the treachery of the fates
Who sit in darkness spinning deadly snares.
We knew the iron teeth of guilt,
Were twisted on the rack of shame,
Lived in a night that nightmares built,
New York
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2
5
Were loth to place and gl ad to take the blame.
o
happy youth, 0 happy age
To whom these poisons are remote;
Whose voices, ignorant of rage,
Babble forever on an even note.
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