However thoughtful we may be
At twenty-two or -five
We cannot guess the inextricableness,
The force to bless or curse unless
We learn that saying, “I thee wed”
Incants new life of joy and dread.
To be forever but a half
One arm, one leg, and but one eye
When life calls us to hug, to stand,
To see the depths that beautify.
And as a part of such a pair,
Forever hobbled when apart,
To know the bliss and the despair
That wounds and mends the gifted heart,
That rescues love from life’s ennui
And keeps it still alive.
However thoughtful we may be
At twenty-one or -four,
However liberal our reading
‘Bout the human heart’s dear needing,
However noble our intent
To bend ourselves lest we be bent,
No dream of youth can scarce suspect
How much a token can betide,
That given gold (a humble thing)
Is solemn sign-act prophesied
And is no mere decoration—
Though with great decorum given—
But promise now made visible
As a bow that graces heaven
That the giver, this one, he
Would give you evermore.
However thoughtful we may be
At twenty-eight or -three
How could we guess that youthful dreams
Of candlelight and moon-full beams,
Of passion’s depths and torrid heights,
The body’s sensual delights
Are an uninspired allure,
A facile initiation,
That waters deep, that mystery
Is our truest destination.
That taste and touch like manna bless
And feed the weary, traveling soul
Whose feet, bloodied by wilderness
Seek for a land to be made whole
Where washed they may the servants be
Of pilgrims gathered ‘round a tree.
What youth can know its name truly
Since the endeavor of his days
Has been the building of his dreams
From will and power, steel that gleams,
Accomplishments to wild applause,
All for his self-selected cause?
To give oneself without reserve
And make no plea or counterclaim,
To cast ourselves into the gulf,
And pray our lover does the same;
That is worship and that alone,
Until we learn forgetfulness
Through flesh of flesh and bone of bone
Of golden idol’s selfishness.
Or else call it adultery
In whatsoever bed he lays.
However thoughtful we may be
At twenty-nine or -four,
We cannot know as we do now
The outrage wrought when we endow
Another with our worldly goods
As wander we through lonely woods
On paths to heaven or to hell,
Where nature red in tooth and claw
Declares her solemn, dusty reign
And survival her only law.
Beneath her iron-fisted rule
The gift of what could preserve life
Proclaims her usurper and fool;
Author, not Master of our strife.
With rally cry, “It shall not be
As it is now forevermore.”
However thoughtful we may be
We cannot guess when years are few
The tribute age will pay to age
For mold’ring tome and dusty page,
Their words bequeathed to feckless youth,
A civil tongue for mouths uncouth.
For as our stiff’ning limbs and minds
Betray what rigor must be ours,
We’ll seek again their hoary words
As health and wholeness time devours.
We’ll thank them that they chose for us
Such vows of breadth and depth and height
That spoke for beauty luminous
We’d treasure as a goodly light
Within our joy and misery
In prayer that they might yet be true.