The Guilty Man

SR n e Vor. XLIV

PS No. VI

A Magazine of Verse

SEPTEMBER 1934

NAMELESS MEN

THE GUILTY MAN

TH YEARS of my life were odd that now are even.

Think! to be young, amused, and not a fool;

Playing the world's game-think!-with world's own rules,

And nothing lost, I think, I think . . . but years.

Heart against mouth is singing out of tune,

Night's whisperings and blanks betrayed; this is

The end of lies: my bones are angry with me.

Father, the darkness of the self goes out

And spreads contagion on the flowing air.

I walk obscurely in a cloud of dark:

Yea, when I kneeled, the dark kneeled down with me.

Touch me: my folds and my defenses fall ;

I stand within myself, myself my shield.

Teach me my reasons, I would know their names,

Cry havoc, drive my secrets out, because

I hate the excellence that spoils the world.

Depart from me, therefore, you virtuous men

Whose treason is to turn the conscience kind.

None may forgive us for the ancient wrongs.