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