To a Young Poet
- Nestlings opening wide their crying mouths for food,
- Elijah scanning the horizon for a last
Remembering raven, Midas' panic-stricken lips
Against the gold, and you so gaunt you seem to fast,
- So strangely thin, whose searching eyes seek something
- ___Once
- I thought you must have starved when small. And then I
- thought
- You hungered for a mother's love. But now I know
You thirst for Beauty. How I wish it were bread you
- sought.
- I'd spread a table wide. Or mother-love. And I'd
Adopt you though you are so tall. But Beauty, lad,
I'm sorry, but you'll always starve for her. Sometimes,
You think you feed and sickness follows. Then her glad,
Diaphanous garments disappear just as you turn
A corner. Mad, you clutch her skirts. No use. Your lean
And hungry fingers bag the air. Unslaked, you'll burn
Like all who have preceded. But go on! Make keen
Pursuit. Be fooled! You'll dim descry another wraith.
Run! Starve! This faithless mistress will not let you
- slip the faith!
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
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