Thursday, June 01, 2006

Milton's Nightmare

The field
To labour calls us now with sweat imposed

Paradise Lost, XI, 171-2

Our brow's sweat
savors no bread.

License cherished
as Liberty goes

                                    Past pillars
                                        Cerberean throngs,
                                    surfeit with cake,

Lack spirit and
virtuous sinews
for the Letter.

They stoop
under the yoke.
                                     Water, truth's tears  
                                      embitter seas.
                                      Air, a trillion waves of

No comments: