The Heptalogia Part 3

Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist?

Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay-- Lined blind with true sea's blue, as due-- Promising--not to pay?

II

For the sea's debt leaves wet the sand; Burst worst fate's weights in one burst gun?

A man's own yacht, blown--What? off land?

Tack back, or veer round here, then--queer!

Reef points, though--understand?

III

I'm blest if I do. Sigh? be blowed!

Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh? Tropes!

Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road; Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged-- Clogged, water-logged, her load!

IV

Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away!

No show now how best plough sea's brow, Wrinkling--breeze quick, tease thick, ere day, Clear sheer wave's sheen of green, I mean, With twinkling wrinkles--eh?

V

Sea sprinkles winkles, tinkles light Sh.e.l.ls' bells--boy's joys that hap to snap!

It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite G.o.d's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge-- Not proper, is it--quite?

VI

See, fore and aft, life's craft undone!

Crank plank, split spritsail--mark, sea's lark!

That grey cold sea's old sprees, begun When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark, All water--just G.o.d's fun!

VII

Not bright, at best, his jest to these Seemed--screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin!

When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please Some dumb new grim great whim in him Made Jews take chalk for cheese.

VIII

Could G.o.d's rods bruise G.o.d's Jews? Their jowls Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped the plaice in face: None heard, 'tis odds, his--G.o.d's--folk's howls.

Now, how must I apply, to try This hookiest-beaked of owls?

IX

Well, I suppose G.o.d knows--I don't.

Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud With birds' words--No! he won't!

X

One never should think good impossible.

Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse-- His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible By spy--spring's air takes there no care To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell!

XI

But gold bells chime in time there, coined-- Gold! Old Sphinx winks there--"Read my screed!"

Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined (Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth-- At once all three purloined!

XII

I rose with dawn, to p.a.w.n, no doubt, (Miss this chance, glance untried aside?) John's shirt, my--no! Ay, so--the lout!

Let yet the door gape, store on floor And not a soul about?

XIII

Such men lay traps, perhaps--and I'm Weak--meek--mild--child of woe, you know!

But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime.

Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in p.a.w.n--you sp.a.w.n Of Jewry! Just in time!

V

OFF THE PIER

I

One last glance at these sands and stones!

Time goes past men, and lives to his liking, Steals, and ruins, and sometimes atones.

Why should he be king, though, and why not I king?

There now, that wind, like a swarm of sick drones!

II

Is it heaven or mere earth (come!) that moves so and moans?

Oh, I knew, when you loved me, my soul was in flowerage-- Now the frost comes; from prime, though, I watched through to nones, Read love's litanies over--his age was not our age!