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Nothing there? nothing up the sky alive,
Invisibly considering?... I wonder.
Sometimes I heard Him in traditional thunder;
Sometimes in sweet rain, or in a great 'plane, I've
Concluded that I heard Him not. You thrive
So, where I pine. See no adjustment blunder?
Job was alone with Satan? Job? O under
Hell-ladled morning, some of my hopes revive:

...Less nakedly malign—loblolly—dull
Eyes on our end... a table crumples, things
Jump and fuse, a fat voice calls down the sky,
'Too excitable! too sensitive! thin-skull,
I am for you: I shrive your wanderings:
Stand closer, evil, till I pluck your sigh.'


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 21 Mar 2010 8:47 AM | Viewed: 1877 times

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