The Entry into the City of English Poets
We see him heated, agitated, full
Of passion as a poem fills a page,
As stern as Christ with money changers; skull
Not visible but there as if a rage
Resents the hair and flesh and skin
And mouth, the opening between the bones,
Both work together to oppose the sin
Of silence soon to be imposed. His tones
We cannot hear, his words that are condemned,
His thoughts on beauty, all are trapped behind
The oils. Contagion has his genius hemmed
In. We can see all this, but he is blind.
..The seer triumphs with his sonnets, odes,
….His vision, speaking in eternal codes.