By Merton’s darkening walls I sat,
Brushed by the fall of summer’s rain,
Feeling the eternal Jew,
Homunculus, starting in my veins.
Now in the garden of the mind
Blooms the dark vintage of my race;
No memory binds me to its vine,
Yet shattering Time unlocks the gate.
By Toledo’s walls I wept,
(Drinking my tea and milk the while),
Under the flame-pierced sky of Spain
Bound to the burning stake, I smiled.
No cymbals clash, no sparrow falls,
I sip, I talk, I choose a cake;
Where is the writing on the wall?
When shall the stone of silence break?
Through Vilna’s icy lanes I fled,
Safe in the dark shroud of dismay;
But the bright star shining on my head
No summer’s rain shall wash away.
On Erudition’s arm I walk
Past the stern guardian of the Right,
Blazing with borrowed wit, I talk
Of Plato, Augustine and Christ.
With lowered eyes, I phrase the Greek,
Sharpen the point in flawless French;
What dark-voweled language did I speak
Rocking with wisdom on my bench?
Once in a city’s arms I dreamed,
But Oxford’s towers have pierced my sleep;
A midnight voyage on the sea—
Now by Babylon’s waters I weep.
Destruction’s sheltering touch at last
In passive union binds all men;
Still the deceptive tongue of brass;
Jerusalem shall not rise again.
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