This poem is taken from PN Review 73, Volume 16 Number 5, May - June 1990.
The Quandary
The Quandary
Within the closet of my mind
There dwells a body, not my own,
What ghost, what image left behind
By other days, and timeless grown?
Or is this the unspeakable,
Because unspoken, hope I have
Of an attendance in the grave
Where, so I fancy, all is well?
No hope, no promise, lives in me,
For I have found that hopes are dreams.
Though not awakened yet, I see
The endless folly of what seems,
Seems for a moment, and then goes
To other mists and distances.
Can faith presume the things that please
...
Within the closet of my mind
There dwells a body, not my own,
What ghost, what image left behind
By other days, and timeless grown?
Or is this the unspeakable,
Because unspoken, hope I have
Of an attendance in the grave
Where, so I fancy, all is well?
No hope, no promise, lives in me,
For I have found that hopes are dreams.
Though not awakened yet, I see
The endless folly of what seems,
Seems for a moment, and then goes
To other mists and distances.
Can faith presume the things that please
...
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