367

367

“Blick aufs Grüne”.

Such was his mild expression,

Queasy, seagreen. Parlous wager, Padre Piscine!

The need of adequate space for contemplation,

Burdens of praxis,

Of regulation. The white collar that binds us fast.

His entry into the ministry and his first station,

In the Preparatory School.

Moments of burdensome Angst, unter vier Augen.

Of all places for a depilated man to tread—among

Schoolchildren! The heart

Bound fast to the dying animal. Dear, dear mercy.

And there, his moist lip

At the waterglass's rand. What does it afford him,

That quiet “Blick”? It may be in the silence

Of the basement office, through the membrane

Of his broad window,

In the shade of the library, dense intimations pass :

The construction of the exact body of the Lord ;

Pale, diverse quantities ;

Proportions triplicate and further ; great diagrams

In which, perhaps, the particular implies the whole.

Basta, Vater. One lights one's

Flatus with a match and witnesses braver auroras.

One must have a mind of water

To regard the sloping lawns so.

Still, novice, we do. Or the stars recall us suddenly.