A Scholar
Pro
captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli
The light
is dying, and the clock has died;
the page
succumbs to the atrocious care
that
disinters the things not wholly there
by which
your solemn field is justified.
You
burnish them until they bear the shine
of common
knowledge, knowing one black skill
is yours
alone: before the greater will
all text
is dream, and takes on the design
of what
was sought there. Thus your word is God.
This
grammarie electrifies the gate;
none pass
but such as you initiate.
The
students hurry by you in the quad
attending
to their feet. What can you say?
You know
your Shakespeare would have walked that way.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.