Love Came to Visit Me

Love came to visit me, Shy as a fawn, But finding me busy, she Fled with the dawn.
At twenty, the torch of
Resentment was lit,
My rage at injustice
Waxed hot as the pit,
The flux of its lava
Cleared all in its path,
Comrades and enemies
Fled from its wrath.
Yet lovers grew wary
Once novelty waned —
To lie with a panther
Is terror unfeigned.
At thirty, my powers
Seemed mighty to me,
The fruits of my rivals
I shook from the tree,
By guile and by bluster,
By night and by day,
I battered and scattered
The fools from my way;
And women grew willing
To sham and to bluff —
Their trinkets and baubles
Cost little enough.
From forty to fifty,
I sought the abyss,
Each concubines’ laughter
As false as her kiss.
We feasted and revelled
And rutted in muck,
Forgetting our peril,
Forgetting to duck,
Forgetting time’s arrows
Are sharper than knives,
Grown sick of our swagger —
And sick of our lives.
Then came a miracle.
Loving but stern, A Muse I knew naught of
Chided me: ‘Turn!
Thy towers are faithless
And built upon sand,’
Then haltered and helpless
And led by the hand
I wandered in byways
Of shadow and light,
And seeing no help for it,
Sat down to write.
Love came to visit me, Shy as a fawn, But finding me busy, she Fled with the dawn.