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The chim-chim of conversation may lull to sleep the ear;
the termless perorations may eat through all the year;
the chatter on the branches may drown the highway-roar;
but one day it will falter.
One day it will end
and the mouth take bit and halter,
all blather to forfend.
The blatherskite may jabber with ishkabibble roar;
the monkeys sling their gibber, the jungle trees to bore;
the World our Foe may babble and repeat its mock and sneer;
but one day it will silence.
One day it will end,
and the tongue, despite its violence,
beneath the yoke will bend.
Strange Primates
I hear the music and your eyes
are lovely like the ocean-wave,
darkly blue and gray,
like wild and stormy skies,
like death, so deeply grave --
yet somehow they are bright with light
that overshadows day.
And in such times I know,
whatever the worldly-wisemen say,
whatever counsels fools may rave,
that we, strange primates,
are yet unbound,
yet timeless,
though even our timelessness dies;
that something eternal we somehow save
from rapacious time that flies --
and there, only there, are we found.