About It and About
What made you speak so, Youth, just now beforeThese elders, men much nearer to the thingYou touch on?Ah, but no. They claim it soYet I deny, for Graybeards grudge to haveYouth whisper, “Death” ... because they feel it close?And Youth’s poor boldness makes it still more close?Youth always speaks on death by proper right;He has but left it when he enters lifeWhile Graybeard’s years have dulled the sense that knewPrenatal death, and now its imminenceStifles his speech.... While Youth, Youth only dares!So I ... hearing such bootless thoughts on death,Oblivion, rest, eternal pain, reward....Somehow they think death lasts, and seek to lieDisposed at ease through aeons, or perhapsSend on their proper sandal-size aheadTo heaven’s commissary. Thus Graybeards.And yet, Youth also misconstrues its sort,Makes it a vale deep-shadowed, where withinGhosts glide ’neath cloistering cypress trees and supOf honey cakes in tombs wisteria-hung:Cloaked lovers stroll through hazel groves and comeTo Lethe’s bank ... or in another mood,Visioning death as ugly, conjures upA creatured sprite bent on a tarnished scythe.But death, and such my death will be, is naughtTo stop a soul’s drive nor to even checkIts impetus. Death is transition, well,Transition’s but a word ... or say it thus,It simply lies, a gap between two railsThe drive wheel rushes over unaware.K. A. CAMPBELL, JR.
What made you speak so, Youth, just now beforeThese elders, men much nearer to the thingYou touch on?Ah, but no. They claim it soYet I deny, for Graybeards grudge to haveYouth whisper, “Death” ... because they feel it close?And Youth’s poor boldness makes it still more close?Youth always speaks on death by proper right;He has but left it when he enters lifeWhile Graybeard’s years have dulled the sense that knewPrenatal death, and now its imminenceStifles his speech.... While Youth, Youth only dares!So I ... hearing such bootless thoughts on death,Oblivion, rest, eternal pain, reward....Somehow they think death lasts, and seek to lieDisposed at ease through aeons, or perhapsSend on their proper sandal-size aheadTo heaven’s commissary. Thus Graybeards.And yet, Youth also misconstrues its sort,Makes it a vale deep-shadowed, where withinGhosts glide ’neath cloistering cypress trees and supOf honey cakes in tombs wisteria-hung:Cloaked lovers stroll through hazel groves and comeTo Lethe’s bank ... or in another mood,Visioning death as ugly, conjures upA creatured sprite bent on a tarnished scythe.But death, and such my death will be, is naughtTo stop a soul’s drive nor to even checkIts impetus. Death is transition, well,Transition’s but a word ... or say it thus,It simply lies, a gap between two railsThe drive wheel rushes over unaware.K. A. CAMPBELL, JR.
What made you speak so, Youth, just now beforeThese elders, men much nearer to the thingYou touch on?Ah, but no. They claim it soYet I deny, for Graybeards grudge to haveYouth whisper, “Death” ... because they feel it close?And Youth’s poor boldness makes it still more close?Youth always speaks on death by proper right;He has but left it when he enters lifeWhile Graybeard’s years have dulled the sense that knewPrenatal death, and now its imminenceStifles his speech.... While Youth, Youth only dares!So I ... hearing such bootless thoughts on death,Oblivion, rest, eternal pain, reward....Somehow they think death lasts, and seek to lieDisposed at ease through aeons, or perhapsSend on their proper sandal-size aheadTo heaven’s commissary. Thus Graybeards.And yet, Youth also misconstrues its sort,Makes it a vale deep-shadowed, where withinGhosts glide ’neath cloistering cypress trees and supOf honey cakes in tombs wisteria-hung:Cloaked lovers stroll through hazel groves and comeTo Lethe’s bank ... or in another mood,Visioning death as ugly, conjures upA creatured sprite bent on a tarnished scythe.
What made you speak so, Youth, just now before
These elders, men much nearer to the thing
You touch on?
Ah, but no. They claim it so
Yet I deny, for Graybeards grudge to have
Youth whisper, “Death” ... because they feel it close?
And Youth’s poor boldness makes it still more close?
Youth always speaks on death by proper right;
He has but left it when he enters life
While Graybeard’s years have dulled the sense that knew
Prenatal death, and now its imminence
Stifles his speech.... While Youth, Youth only dares!
So I ... hearing such bootless thoughts on death,
Oblivion, rest, eternal pain, reward....
Somehow they think death lasts, and seek to lie
Disposed at ease through aeons, or perhaps
Send on their proper sandal-size ahead
To heaven’s commissary. Thus Graybeards.
And yet, Youth also misconstrues its sort,
Makes it a vale deep-shadowed, where within
Ghosts glide ’neath cloistering cypress trees and sup
Of honey cakes in tombs wisteria-hung:
Cloaked lovers stroll through hazel groves and come
To Lethe’s bank ... or in another mood,
Visioning death as ugly, conjures up
A creatured sprite bent on a tarnished scythe.
But death, and such my death will be, is naughtTo stop a soul’s drive nor to even checkIts impetus. Death is transition, well,Transition’s but a word ... or say it thus,It simply lies, a gap between two railsThe drive wheel rushes over unaware.
But death, and such my death will be, is naught
To stop a soul’s drive nor to even check
Its impetus. Death is transition, well,
Transition’s but a word ... or say it thus,
It simply lies, a gap between two rails
The drive wheel rushes over unaware.
K. A. CAMPBELL, JR.
K. A. CAMPBELL, JR.