by Robert Graves
To whom else other than,
To whom else not of man
Yet in human state,
Standing neither in stead
Of self nor idle godhead,
Should I, man in man bounded,
Myself dedicate?
To whom else momently,
To whom else endlessly,
But to you, I?
To you who only,
To you who mercilessly,
To you who lovingly,
Plucked out the lie?
To whom else less acquaint,
To whom else without taint
Of death, death-true?
With great astonishment
Thankfully I consent
To my estrangement
From me in you.
1 comment:
That idea of standing outside of yourself and addressing what you see ... something I'm being drawn to more and more these days for some odd reason. I keep thinking of that Dickinson poem about bumping into herself at night.
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