Poems (Tree)/I Could Explain
I COULD explainThe complicated lore that drags the soulFrom what shall profit himTo gild damnation with his choicest gold.But youAre poring over precious books and do not hearOur plaintive, frivolous songs;For we in stubborn vanity ascendOn ladders insecure,Toward the tottering balconiesTo serenade our painted paramours;Caught by the lure of dangerous pale hands,Oblivion's heavy lids on sleepless eyesThat cheat between unrest and false repose.And we are hauntedBy spectral Joy once murdered in a rage,Now taking shape of Pleasure,Disguised in many clothes and skilful masks.I could discloseThe truth that hangs between our liesAnd jostles sleep to semi-consciousness;Truth, that stings like nettlesOur frail hands dare not pluckFrom out our garden's terraced indolence.We are not happy,And you make us dumb with loving handsReproachful on our lips.Nor can we sob our sorrows on your breast,For we have bartered diamonds for glass,Our tears for smiles,Eternity for now.
1917