The Damascene Considers his Severed Hand

Poemata XCVII

What window’s light gives / knowledge of what is to come / color but the past

(musical accompaniment provided for your reading pleasure.)

Now this is where today I am  -- A hapless beggar, bound by debt  
A doubly hopeless drifting soul -- whose song no credit carries on.

But some take hope from senseless things -- a tweak to this or that will do
In doubtful times no truth they know -- and neither comfort can they leave.

For tho' they came for this old man -- and made him worthless much too soon
No solace for you seemly ones -- will working come secure for you.

Resistance cannot save you now -- for naught our substance sold has been
So brash and feckless foreign hands -- will have the treasures that we won.

And all the learning lost will be -- with bathos schools so bathed in light
Will like the flashing lightning blink -- and be as nothing, night returned.

O hand of mine, so heavy now -- inert of pulse and paling out
Of old a song, a sign we made -- a miracle must come at last.