To measure life by then and soon to be
And to mark great the days when strong things are seen
Pleases the host and provides them certainty
That their measurement of time and place is keen.

But you, my dear, bow to a different mark
And judge passing time as lost when quiet now
Receives no praise and hears no joyous bark
Of drummers marching through splendid gated row.

Would that we could share your sparkling cuneiform
And pierce the fog of what was then and whether
Soon will be. But plod we on in darkest uniform
And, puzzled, find soft contentment never.

While you please the passing time to pause
And with abandon violate all heaven’s laws.

—Robert E. Barnett (CC ’93)