“I wrought thee for the world, and then thou wast
Immortal—and I wept uncomforted;
But since I made thee mine—O thou art lost
To me and all men. I was glad,” he said,
“But thou art dead, O thou art dead, art dead.”
HELEN SIMPSON
(HOME STUDENT)
THE HEAD OF THE TABLE; DECODERS W.R.N.S.
EVERY day at ten to three,
Be the weather wet or warm,
I doff my identity,
And assume a uniform.
Clad in this I sally out,
Cause considerable stir,
Order nobodies about
As becomes an Officer;
Freeze the surreptitious smile
With a chill severity—
Longing all the weary while
For the unregenerate Me.
But when my release is earned
And I am at home, secure,
My identity has turned
Unexpectedly demure.
Why? I enter rather late
And My manner when we meet,
Seems, I fear, to indicate
The repentant indiscreet.
I, thus tantalized by Me
Spend an irritated day;
Now the question seems to be—
What goes on when I’m away?
AEROPLANE, JUNE 6TH.
I WAS watching as you flew
Circling in the summer sky;
Round about you thoughts I threw,
Every bit as swift as you,
Every bit as high.
Out of cloud a palace springs,
Domes and minarets and towers,
Bastions, where the trumpet rings
And my topmost turret swings
High about the showers.
You were captain in the skies
Nimble as a darting sword—
Of the company of spies
Who my castle from surprise
Vigilantly ward.
Wheeling, darting, unaware
That you were the warden bold
Of my palace towering there,
Of its battlements of air
And its roofs of gold.
All unheeding trumpet calls
Down you plunged from out the blue;
Warderless the silver wells,
And my airy castle falls
Swifter far than you.