Portrait of a Gentleman
Tower of stone
Rugged and lonely,
My thoughts like ivy
Embrace my memory of you,
Climbing riotously, wantonly,
Till the harsh walls
Are clothed in tender green.
Tower of stone,
Stark walls and a narrow door
Which speak:
"You who are not for me
Are against me,—
If you are mine,
Enter!"
But who would be prisoned
In unknown darkness?
Tower of stone
Rugged and lonely,
I dared not enter and I would not go
Till clasping you
My arms were bruised and torn.
From the Madison Street Police Station
I, John Shepherd, vagrant,
Petition the park commissioners
For wider benches.
My soul has long been reconciled
To the prick of gunny-sack,
(O well-remembered woollen fleeces!)
And rustling vests of newspaper,
And the chill of rubbers on unshod feet,
But to the wasteful burning of dry leaves,
God's shepherd's mattress,
Never!
Descendant of ancient ones
Who tended flocks and watched the midnight sky,
My forebears saw the Eastern star appear
Over Judean hills.
Where do your flocks graze, gentlemen?
Are there no sheep or shepherds any more?
All day long I sought the flocks
And came by night to a wide, grassy place,
Where I could sit and watch the stars wheel by—
And in the morning some one brought me here.