He Left me Back in Babel
Today the world has ended;
Hear the Last Trumpet's sound.
How many talents have I gained
To make the cloud rider please?
He left me back in Babel,
With naught but tangled words
That I must cast in the forge
Till every letter glows as gold.
My thorn bed has been worth it;
Talents three have fetched these:
Ruby and jasper and quartz
And turquoise, the master's gold besides.
The gopher of Odyssey,
These three pieces have gained.
O, the epic is treasure ten
Thousand times the Noah's Ark!
Who's the Son of David
Where the epigram stands;
For Housman and Coleridge
And Dryden and Pope went as pilgrims there.
Over there is the satire;
Horace is for her seal.
I love her Lot Wife's glances
That turn Pharaohs into pillars of salt!
The three raked in some nonsense;
Would the good master frown?
There is Jabberwocky in the chest,
Lukewarm, would he spew?
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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