in the hour when I was born. But inside the hill,
under the lidlike rock that caps it from the sky,
the ghosts and powers and angels gathered,
ghosts of the blood, and powers of the heart,
and bird-swift angels of the mind;
and in the darkness the red ghosts said,
we will give this child hunger and thirst, and the horror of pain,
and reluctance to labor at anything
unless it is for the sake of thought or love;
and we will give him nerves that will double his heartbeat
at the slightest cause for excitement, and will drive him
to seek relief from the helpful sedative
that pours so beautifully out of the narrow-necked bottle.
And the purple powers of the heart said solemnly,
We will give this child a longing for love
that he will never be able to express, and a pity
for all the suffering that he will never be able
to prevent, and an indignation at all the cruelty
that he will never understand; and moreover
we will give him the loneliness of living among strangers,
and the anguish of not being able to shake off
his weaknesses, and a heavy sadness at the slipping away of time.
And at last the bright angels of the mind
laughed at the others and said, We will give this child
such dreams as few on earth have dreamed,
such thoughts and visions as would wake the night,
even without stars, to richer life than day;
and we will give this child great pleasure
in the gleaming minds of others, and delight
in peering into hidden places, and sly mockery
of all the stuffed and stupid leaders of the world;
and, above all, by a secret and subtle sleight-of-hand,
whatever is done against him, we will undo.
So spoke the spirits and the ghosts, the powers and angels,
as I lay and kicked and screamed in the rich and gloomy house
in the shadow of Mount Tom.
Allan Dowling
