Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo, <br />The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew <br />Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo"; <br />And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light <br />By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools." <br />And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after <br />Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death <br />Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried <br />The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls <br />And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear <br />Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me? <br />Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart, <br />Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour <br />When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches <br />Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning <br />In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel, <br />Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness <br />Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches! <br />'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo. <br />Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring, <br />If die you must in the spring. For none shall look <br />On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must <br />'Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow, <br />Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand, <br />Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness <br />Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease <br />To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me <br />Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone <br />For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes <br />For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers -- <br />Delphic Apollo.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/webster-ford/
