The Personal Liberty Exponent


You say a thousand things
And with strange passion hotly I agree,
And praise your zest.
And then
A blackbird sings
On April lilac, on field-faring men,
Ghost like with loaded wain,
Come down the twilight lane
To rest,
And what is all your argument to me?
Oh, yes — I know, I know,
It must be so —
You must devise
Your myriad policies,
For we are little wise,
And must be led and marshalled .   .   .
And surely it is wrong
To count my blackbird’s song,
My cones of lilac, and my wagon team
More than a world of dream.
But still
A voice calls from the hill —
I must away —
I cannot hear your argument today.

John Drinkwater.

Iowa City Press Citizen (Iowa City, Iowa) Jul 27, 1923

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