Author : Wystan Hugh AUDEN.
If now, having dismissed your hired impersonators with verdicts ranging from laudatory orchid to the disgusted and disgusting egg, you ask and, of course, notwithstanding, the concius fact of his irrevocable absence, you instinctively do ask for our so good, so great, so dead author to stand before the finally lowered curtain and take his shyly rsponsible bow for this, his latest, ripest production, it is I _ my reluctance is, I can assure you co-equal with your dismay_ who will always loom thus wretchedly into your confuse picture, for, in default of the all-wise, all-explaining master you would speak to, who else at least can, who else indeed must respond to your bewildered cry, but is very echo, the begged question you would speak to him about.
THE WANDERER.
Doom is dark and deeper than any sea-dingle
Upon what man is fall
In spring day-wishing flowers appearing
Avalanche sliding, white snowfrom rock-face
That he should leave his house
No cloud-soft hand can hold him, restraint by women;
But ever that man goes
Through place-keepers, through forest trees.
A stranger to strangers over undried sea,
Houses for fishes, suffocating water,
Or lonely on fell as chat,
By pot-holed becks
A bird stone-haunting, an unquiet bird.
5 de julio de 2008
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