Webster Ford

Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo,         The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew         Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo,".         And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light         By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools."         And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after         Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death         Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried         The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls         And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear         Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me?         Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart         Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour         When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches         Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning         In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel,         Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness         Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches!         'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo.         Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring,         If die you must in the spring. For none shall look         On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must         'Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow,         Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand,         Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness         Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease         To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me         Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone         For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes         For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers -         Delphic Apollo.