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Or more than scattered, like an obscene flock
Of rooks alert around a living quarry
That might not have a longer while to live
Than a few days would hold, or not so many.
Of rooks alert around a living quarry
That might not have a longer while to live
Than a few days would hold, or not so many.
“Praise be to God, I could almost have said
For your ill fortune, sir, and for your danger,”
Was Tristram’s answer to the King’s grim news.
“I have been groping slowly out of life
Into a slough of darkness and disuse—
A place too far from either for life or death
To share with me. Yes, I have had too much
Of what a fool, not knowing its right name,
Would call the joy of life. If that be joy,
Give me a draught out of your cup of trouble,
And let it be seen then what’s left of me
To deal with your bad neighbor. For tonight,
Let me have rest before tomorrow’s work,
Which may be early.”
For your ill fortune, sir, and for your danger,”
Was Tristram’s answer to the King’s grim news.
“I have been groping slowly out of life
Into a slough of darkness and disuse—
A place too far from either for life or death
To share with me. Yes, I have had too much
Of what a fool, not knowing its right name,
Would call the joy of life. If that be joy,
Give me a draught out of your cup of trouble,
And let it be seen then what’s left of me
To deal with your bad neighbor. For tonight,
Let me have rest before tomorrow’s work,
Which may be early.”
“Early and late, I fear,”
The King said, and eyed Tristram cautiously,
And with a melancholy questioning
The King said, and eyed Tristram cautiously,
And with a melancholy questioning
[ 86 ]
