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Poem by Henry Cuyler Bunner


A.D. 1425.

I have let the world go.
Thats the door that closed
Behind the holy father. I am shrived.
Alls donealls saidalls shaped and rounded out
And one hour yet to wait for death. Good Lord!
How easy twas to let this vain life go;
Why, I protest, I who have fought for life
These fifty years, more times than I would count,
I gave the poor thing up but now as though
I tossd away a shillingask the priest!
I gave up life as lightly as I gave him
For an altar-cloth that scarf of cloth of gold
The King bound round my arfa at Agincourt.

One hourone hour! and then a tug o the heart
And I shall see the saints. How plain they make it,
These honest men of God! Was it at Lisle
I met that paunchy little yellow friar,
Like Cupid in a cassock with the jaundice,
And played at cards with him two days together?
Stay, twas at Calais, where I fought the count
By r Lady, but they mockd him !twas at Calais
Now had I had some converse with that brother
It might have been the better for my soul
Though tis all one, I take it, now. . . . The Abbess!
He told a master story of an Abbess
An Abbess and a Clerkbut godly talk,
If I remember me aright . . . we had not.

Ay, tis fair lying here, to watch the sun
Creep up yon walL I would that I had thought
To give that priest the ruby in my hilt
To buy him better store of sacred oil
The anointed go to Paradise, methinks,
Something too rancid-flavored.
Whats the clock?
This hours too full of minutesminutesminutes.
Ah, well, I have done with time. Tis but an hour.
I have let the world go.
Would my dog were here!

Henry Cuyler Bunner

Henry Cuyler Bunner's other poems:
  1. In a Paris Restaurant
  2. The Future of the Classics
  3. Just a Love Letter
  4. Candor
  5. The Chaperon

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