Bid a strong ghost stand at the head That
my Michael may sleep sound, Nor
cry, nor turn in the bed Till
his morning meal come round; And
may departing twilight keep All
dread afar till morning's back. That
his mother may not lack Her
fill of sleep. Bid
the ghost have sword in fist: Some
there are, for I avow Such
devilish things exist, Who
have planned his murder, for they know Of
some most haughty deed or thought That
waits upon his future days, And
would through hatred of the bays Bring
that to nought. Though
You can fashion everything From
nothing every day, and teach The
morning stars to sing, You
have lacked articulate speech To
tell Your simplest want, and known, Wailing
upon a woman's knee, All
of that worst ignominy Of
flesh and bone; And
when through all the town there ran The
servants of Your enemy, A
woman and a man, Unless
the Holy Writings lie, Hurried
through the smooth and rough And
through the fertile and waste, Protecting,
till the danger past, With human love. |
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