Webster Ford

    Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo,
    The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew
    Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo,".
    And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light
    By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools."
    And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after
    Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death
    Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried
    The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls
    And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear
    Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me?
    Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart
    Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour
    When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches
    Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning
    In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel,
    Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness
    Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches!
    'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo.
    Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring,
    If die you must in the spring. For none shall look
    On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must
    'Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow,
    Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand,
    Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness
    Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease
    To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me
    Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone
    For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes
    For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers -
    Delphic Apollo.