The Ballad of the Golden Talon
As I went out one good morning
My coat as bright as day.
I fell upon a gold talon
All in a field of clay.
I said, ‘I know no chanty
Could tell me what to say
On finding such a golden find
On an ordinary day’.
The Hare came over meadow,
He came down yonder hill,
He had a thing to tell me
Though it would do me ill.
He said, ‘This golden talon
Is the mark of sore despair,
Its air of gold hides the taint of mould
And you should sure beware’.
I held the golden talon,
I thought, ‘What can it be
In the world’s design, in the twining vine
That has designs on me?
In the realm of the Silver Raven
Where I am pleased to dwell
Secluded far (though with door ajar)
Who could not wish me well?’
I looked more closely upon the world
(That sphere of green and blue),
I saw horror and I saw poverty
Of every type and hue,
And I thought, ‘This golden talon
Is the only way to save
My sorry misunderstandings
From a cold and deep dark grave’.
But even then I was thinking
Only of the sainted Me;
The sun was high, but with a sigh
I made a plaintive plea:
‘How can I come to the Thunderous Void
Where all will be made plain
By those whom I have sore annoyed
That matters may not be in vain?’
I stared at the Hare, and he at me;
I saw impatience in his eye;
‘You are full of human puffery’, he said,
(Which nobody can deny) -
‘So seize the golden talon,
Plunge into the thunderous sea
And you may assuage the wide world’s rage -
At least to a certain degree’.
So I’ve tried that, and it didn’t work well -
I’m alone on a wide wide sea
With a sinking raft, in a terrible draught
With no-one for company
Except for the Hare. But he is not there
To anyone else but me.
And so I think, as I swim or I sink,
Did the talon not make me free?
As I walked out in the open air
I saw a crow whipped back by wind
And I thought, is this the everywhere
By a wild force unpinned?
How can I see, by what can I swear
When the talon is buried and gone?
Is there some way I am meant to tear
Life from the living swan?
Come all you youths of summer,
Desist from your callow play;
Don’t punish this latecomer
On a brightening, startling day;
Consider all your talon,
It rips with careless glee,
But it can bless, and give caress;
Can hold. Or grasp. Or free.