Experience

I have seen no endless glaring deserts,

Nor witnessed avalanches that, falling,

Murder iced peaks and blanket a sharp slope

Like mothers that warm their wailing infants.

If by accident I accumulate

A great many years, I may yet set eyes

On the Temple of Athene in its ruins;

Join Byron in condemning Elgin’s Earl,

Offer my head to anvil for Her birth.

I may yet set eyes

On the ravages of my Empire’s wars;

Build clean wells or strong-walled schools, fly away

Before stone erodes and horror remains.

I may yet set eyes

On fields, no longer red, in Bretagne;

So many untouched trees and rolling hills

Belie spilled blood, bones that are now worms.

I may yet set eyes

On a field of my own, tilled by my hand;

My children run, they sprint to catch the wind,

I am afraid they will become heroes.

I may never be any of those men,

But today I brushed my lover’s hair in the sun.