“Let not outrageous fortune.”
Do we dare, paramour? Idiots heehaw in the lee & pray
for white tempest of stones to lash us to the shore.
The current is strong. How long does it take to cross
an ancient river? Never, Christopher, is a monstrous joke.
To gauge calmth & courage by gravity of mortal voice
is to measure hell with stride of clammy fingers, eyes.
Each, No-man, would not suffice. Keep from snare of error
Disregard the crossroads of gargoyles & classic terror.
Blitz the squall of waters only at the bark of ultimate run.
Brook no suck of troughs, revelation of swimmers drowned—
& thence, embarking on the swollen bank, the flames in lamp.
What always & must be is the consequential way, explicable fate.
Whoever, in the stinging broadsides, claims our bodies late
is the guardian of lock & key O tender of broken scale.