Alfred Kreymborg
Up and down he goesWith terrible, reckless strides,Flaunting great lampsWith joyous swings—One to the EastAnd one to the West—And flaunting two wordsIn a thunderous callThat thrills the hearts of all enemies:All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One!Beware that queer, wild, wonderful boyAnd his playground—don’t go near!All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One;Up and down he goes.
Up and down he goesWith terrible, reckless strides,Flaunting great lampsWith joyous swings—One to the EastAnd one to the West—And flaunting two wordsIn a thunderous callThat thrills the hearts of all enemies:All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One!Beware that queer, wild, wonderful boyAnd his playground—don’t go near!All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One;Up and down he goes.
Up and down he goesWith terrible, reckless strides,Flaunting great lampsWith joyous swings—One to the EastAnd one to the West—And flaunting two wordsIn a thunderous callThat thrills the hearts of all enemies:All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One!Beware that queer, wild, wonderful boyAnd his playground—don’t go near!All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One;Up and down he goes.
Up and down he goes
With terrible, reckless strides,
Flaunting great lamps
With joyous swings—
One to the East
And one to the West—
And flaunting two words
In a thunderous call
That thrills the hearts of all enemies:
All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One!
Beware that queer, wild, wonderful boy
And his playground—don’t go near!
All, One; All, One; All, One; All, One;
Up and down he goes.
The skyIs that beautiful old parchmentIn which the sunAnd the moonKeep their diary.To read it all,One must be a linguistMore learned than Father Wisdom;And a visionaryMore clairvoyant than Mother Dream.But to feel it,One must be an apostle:One who is more than intimateIn having been, always,The only confidant—Like the earthOr the sea.
The skyIs that beautiful old parchmentIn which the sunAnd the moonKeep their diary.To read it all,One must be a linguistMore learned than Father Wisdom;And a visionaryMore clairvoyant than Mother Dream.But to feel it,One must be an apostle:One who is more than intimateIn having been, always,The only confidant—Like the earthOr the sea.
The skyIs that beautiful old parchmentIn which the sunAnd the moonKeep their diary.To read it all,One must be a linguistMore learned than Father Wisdom;And a visionaryMore clairvoyant than Mother Dream.But to feel it,One must be an apostle:One who is more than intimateIn having been, always,The only confidant—Like the earthOr the sea.
The sky
Is that beautiful old parchment
In which the sun
And the moon
Keep their diary.
To read it all,
One must be a linguist
More learned than Father Wisdom;
And a visionary
More clairvoyant than Mother Dream.
But to feel it,
One must be an apostle:
One who is more than intimate
In having been, always,
The only confidant—
Like the earth
Or the sea.
Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.We could not see him.We might not have heard him either—Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.But his step was tremendous—Are mountains on the march?He was no man who passed;But a great faithful horseDragging a loadUp the hill.
Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.We could not see him.We might not have heard him either—Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.But his step was tremendous—Are mountains on the march?He was no man who passed;But a great faithful horseDragging a loadUp the hill.
Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.We could not see him.We might not have heard him either—Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.But his step was tremendous—Are mountains on the march?
Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.
We could not see him.
We might not have heard him either—
Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.
But his step was tremendous—
Are mountains on the march?
He was no man who passed;But a great faithful horseDragging a loadUp the hill.
He was no man who passed;
But a great faithful horse
Dragging a load
Up the hill.
Good woman:Don’t love the man.Love yourself,As you have done so exquisitely before.Like that tortoise-shell cat of yoursWashing away the flies; or are they fleas?You’ve hurt him again?Good!Do it often.No—He’ll love you the more—Always.Remember how he forgave you the last time,And how he loved you in the forgiving.Give him an adventure in godhoodAnd the higher moralities.Hurt him again.Fine!
Good woman:Don’t love the man.Love yourself,As you have done so exquisitely before.Like that tortoise-shell cat of yoursWashing away the flies; or are they fleas?You’ve hurt him again?Good!Do it often.No—He’ll love you the more—Always.Remember how he forgave you the last time,And how he loved you in the forgiving.Give him an adventure in godhoodAnd the higher moralities.Hurt him again.Fine!
Good woman:Don’t love the man.Love yourself,As you have done so exquisitely before.Like that tortoise-shell cat of yoursWashing away the flies; or are they fleas?You’ve hurt him again?Good!Do it often.No—He’ll love you the more—Always.Remember how he forgave you the last time,And how he loved you in the forgiving.Give him an adventure in godhoodAnd the higher moralities.Hurt him again.Fine!
Good woman:
Don’t love the man.
Love yourself,
As you have done so exquisitely before.
Like that tortoise-shell cat of yours
Washing away the flies; or are they fleas?
You’ve hurt him again?
Good!
Do it often.
No—
He’ll love you the more—
Always.
Remember how he forgave you the last time,
And how he loved you in the forgiving.
Give him an adventure in godhood
And the higher moralities.
Hurt him again.
Fine!