Gay citizen, myself, and thoughtful friend, <br />Your ghosts are Plato's Christians in the cave. <br />Unfix your necks, turn to the door; the nave <br />Gives back the cheated and light dividend <br />So long sequestered; now, new-rich, you'll spend <br />Flesh for reality inside a stone <br />Whose light obstruction, like a gossamer bone, <br />Dead or still living, will not break or bend. <br /> <br />Thus light, your flesh made pale and sinister <br />And put off like a dog that's had his day, <br />You will be Plato's kept philosopher, <br />Albino man bleached from the mortal clay, <br />Mild-mannered, gifted in your master's ease <br />While the sun squats upon the waveless seas.<br /><br />Allen Tate<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/more-sonnets-at-christmas-iv/
