Ah, Christ, I love you rings to the wild sky <br />And I must think a little of the past: <br />When I was ten I told a stinking lie <br />That got a black boy whipped; but now at last <br />The going years, caught in an accurate glow, <br />Reverse like balls englished upon green baize- <br />Let them return, let the round trumpets blow <br />The ancient crackle of the Christ's deep gaze. <br />Deafened and blind, with senses yet unfound, <br />Am I, untutored to the after-wit <br />Of knowledge, knowing a nightmare has no sound; <br />Therefore with idle hands and head I sit <br />In late December before the fire's daze <br />Punished by crimes of which I would be quit.<br /><br />Allen Tate<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-at-christmas-ii/
