Song for a Singer
When you go underground with all your airs,
Your kindly lies and your ridiculous prayers,
You shall not ever fear to face again
The strong man’s rage, the woman wild with pain
Nor song nor sigh will beat upon your brain.
The world will mourn you neither less nor more
Than all the pawns who played the game before;
The lover-lad will kiss his love anew
The water-birds will have their dance to do,
And the rude Spring will gallop over you.
The men who make will match the men who mar,
The eye unsatisfied will seek a star;
Your visitor the worm will speak you fair,
The bride will tremble and the child will stare,
And the red Summer will ride everywhere.
