The Secret Swain

Cold stone meets warmer morn’ in the white plain,
make not dissemblage of the wind’s stuttered
breath. Keep not wrath nor word in your vested
care, no swain may fix this earthly vessel.
Cor, the secret brings no frivult1 device!

Nay, to the nay-sayer’s prayer. Soft, man,
like the winds of the calmest nights! Make not
like a horn, spreading word and return. Take
none, leave all in this most desperate plight.
Most humble host of my soul, leave not air!

For the watch grows near, nigh is my host’s quick
liberation. too keep words where words are
held, no more. To rest goes the conscience to
yonder pomegranate, free of thy guilt