Let me not lie here, mulling the day’s anger,
Rehearsing, if there have been such, its tears;
Let no bitterness beckon, envy linger;
Save me from Circe’s, Medusa’s, cruel stares.
Let me slip to Sleep’s Kingdom unencumbered
By guilt I don’t need, by guards who would ask me
For visas I’ve lost; let me enter unhindered
To where I’m at home: let no one suspect me.
May Kindness take charge then, to see that I’m dipped
In Oblivion’s warm baths; and when I emerge
Let me wander Love’s island, as one who is now
Released from Doubt’s dungeons, manumitted, at large.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 24 Number 1, on page 56
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