Epitaph on a Madman's GraveAuthor(s): Morris GilbertSource: Poetry, Vol. 14, No. 1 (Apr., 1919), p. 22Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20572085 .

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POETRY: A Magazine of Verse

EPISODES

THE THING

I see it in the sorry gleam That lights the far and forlorn dream; It's in the glorious sacrifice

Made for the wry inglorious prize; It's there to see (I cannot choose)

When men take honor to the Jews, And in the satyr's hoofs that rave Down the still cathedral nave; In slender lips that twist and sing, And curved eyes quick with revelling, And every gesture of delight Caught in the blue mirage of night.

It will I seize and hold some day But for it I must throw away And for it I must leave behind . . .

By God, I wish that I were blind!

EPITAPH ON A MADMANIS GRAVE

The time had come to kill himself, he said, Because at night he couldn't run and dive

Into a pool of sleep heels over head The way hie used to do when he was five.

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