by Patience Worth
Before the puppet show, which the curtain of
The night discloses, I am musing.
What strange parts Man, in his folly, chooseth!
Each struts, announcing himself
When the sun hath made prologue, calling:
"Behold, I am lifted to estate through attainment!"
Behaired hands slip through silken sleeves,
While the poet's fingers bruise
With lifting burdens.
This is the jest, the great, great jest!
Man maketh entrance unannounced,
Nor waits for that word of intimacy,
Which should lead him forth.
He is fat upon his own convictions,
And groweth lean, only, when
The curtain, lifting, lets the fringe
Of wayfarers, which draw nigh unto his day,
Behold and jest him!
Hence is jest a noble implement-
Which slayeth false desire.
Last updated January 14, 2019