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Closing Rhyme
| While I, from that reed-throated whisperer | | Who comes at need, although not now as once | | A clear articulation
in the air, | | But inwardly, surmise companions | | Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof, | | —Ben Jonson’s
phrase—and find when June is come | | At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof | | A sterner conscience and
a friendlier home, | | I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, | | Those undreamt accidents that have made
me | | —Seeing that Fame has perished this long while, | | Being but a part of ancient ceremony— | | Notorious,
till all my priceless things | | Are but a post the passing dogs defile. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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