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Sonnet 39

John Berryman

And does the old wound shudder open? Shall
I nurse again my days to a girl's sight,
Feeling the bandaged and unquiet night
Slide? Writhe in silly ecstasy? Banal
Greetings rehearse till a quotidian drawl
Carols a promise? Stoop an acolyte
Who stood my master? Must my blood flow bright,
Childish, I chilled and darkened? Strong pulse crawl?

I see I do, it must, trembling I see
Grace of her switching walk away from me
Fastens me where I stop now, smiling pain;
And neither pride don nor the fever shed
More, till the furor when we slide to bed,
Enter calenture for the boiling brain.

Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 20 Oct 2018 10:52 AM | Viewed: 3711 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9223/ | Viewed on 20 October 2018.
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