Ode to Auden

The master is peaceful at home in time

It neither passes unacknowledged nor

does it awaken the conscience but mimes

from the ether world as cradles a horse

the spirit of beauty leaps up its force

and steers far away from the torturer


Come to me, bard, lay claim my heart

It wants nothing of once again always

but to be slayed by passion of goodness

and anoint with singing of mystery


if design exists in a thing so small

a verse is of a much ampler form

I will build inside its soul my own form

and beauty will attend its arrival