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To the Likeness of a Captain in Cromwell's Armies
Even the walls of Mars would not impress
This captain, whom the Lord's word fortifies;
From another light, another age, his eyes,
That have looked out on slaughter, look at us.
On the sword's hilt the hand just now alighting;
The war moves through a countryside of green;
Beyond the dark smoke England can be seen,
Horses and glory and your day of fighting.
Ambition and desire, captain, are snares:
Vain is your armor, vain the pride and power
Of man, whose whole existence is an hour;
All of this has been over now for years.
The steel destined to wound you has turned to
rust,
And you are now among the damned, like us.
after Borges
Robert Mezey
From
Collected Poems: 1952-1999, University of
Arkansas
Press, ©
2000. Reprinted by permission of the author. |