Aug 272011
 

Now that she is no longer young
There is less of her
In the measures of the birds;
The partridges give voice
Less sweetly, and the rose
Grips more blackly the earth
Now that she is no longer young.

Now that she is no longer young
Do new ships and unfinished men walk lost,
The crippled dog mew at its wounds,
And the sun go sick to bed each night?
Does her pleading face fade away
From its passion like this age
Now that she is no longer young?

I do not know because I am blind
To crudities of the compass point
Or the minor perihelions of the sun.
Enzymes of their medicines cannot chart
The chemic regions of her skies;
The needle on the encephalograph
Shakes no glory from her eye.

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