And All So Long Ago
Grave the censure of the critic ― come, dear boy, and I’ll explain; Men can only summon demons from our common Christian plane. Swinburne, Huysmans, Baudelaire, fools who, lacking vision, thought They could somehow cheat those changes that long centuries had wrought. Men are baptized from the cradle, as they’re taught to read and write, Pagan love is long extinguished — full of blood and willful spite. Pace yourself for imitation, or the charms of high pastiche, For our changed imagination keeps such efforts on a leash. Talk pursues and shadows lengthen, round us sets the evening sun. Let the advocates of progress cheer a minor battle won. Life goes on and I head homeward, thinking through the tutored speech, Past half-naked men and women dancing plastered on the beach, Past the drunks on the embankments, past the girls who offer larks, Past the noises of men grunting, making love in unlit parks. Safe from art these pilgrims travel on their journey through the night As they stumble cross shop windows blaring harsh fluorescent light. Is their distance so enormous, are they tainted from within, Can among them come the prophet who will save us all from sin?