Reading Myself

Robert Lowell

Reading MyselfLike thousands I took just pride and more than just,

struck matches that brought my blood to a boil;

I memorized the tricks to set the river on fire–

somehow never wrote something to go back to.

Can I suppose I am finished with wax flowers

and have earned my grass on the minor slopes of Parnassus…

No honeycomb is built without a bee

adding circle to circle, cell to cell,

the wax and honey of a mausoleum–

this round dome proves its maker is alive;

the corpse of the insect lives embalmed in honey,

prays that its perishable work live long

enough for the sweet tooth bear to desecrate–

this open open coffin”


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