How men were changed from being men
To something less deceivable, and I
Am changed by solitude until the light
Lives through me and my body is no more
A breeder of shadow. On darker days
The rain inhabits me, dim without sorrow
And chill without love. From my reverie
Woodpeckers wake me with their stony bills
Searching in the rotten walls for food.
IV
In especial I am hunted by Apollo
Who loved Daphne, Daphne who became
A tree. I follow her across the fields
Crying, "I am the god of wisdom offering
Knowledge of the past, and of the present
And of what from the dark source beyond us
Is yet to flow." And I too see her run
With the dark certitude of a natural thing
Knowing this is not love, whatever
Love may be, that at her back cries out
I am a god. Her father was a river
In the vale of Tempe who changed her
Into laurel which is forever green.
V
Something has nested in the chimney
And makes a phantom fire with the roaring
Of its wings, stirring the ashes on the stone
In the act of comforting. I warm myself
At night beside this fire, and listen to
The song in the nest that floats above me like
The sea that lives and does not live in shells.
And who will tell me that I do not pray
(Being unfashionable) with the profoundest right
Of a deserted man to that vague thing
Which has usurped my empty hearth and altar
And is a common bird, and yet unknown
To me except by cries, and by the breath of wings.
