​🇹 🇭🇪   🇵🇴🇪🇲

the poem
the poem

i

But before he was put,

and

after,

there were melodious notes,
as in Seraph’s harp

in its sweetest pitch

for a preacher’s morning,

in the voices of men.

Alas, it was a mourning!

ii

Woe be unto thee,
thou who dost evil!

Saith the preacher

who till liveth,

and whose time

hath come not.
He who preached,

but doth now lay

within the holds

of most sober words—

their bowels, the words,

lament for grave sorrows

when they utter thus—

Dust art thou;

thou shalt to dust return;

doth now listen attentively

but hath not ears,

not even erring ears

that may tell him

how worms tear rend him.
He who preached

when he who lay

was laid

still stormeth the wind

and raiseth the altar

to gracious falter:

flattery coateth his skin;

lies garment’h his bones.

He telleth of he who lay,

O, ye Salem, praise Him:

then lay our brother.

He fulfilled, as he was fulfilled

and resteth in peace.
Hast thou knowst 

the torments beneath earth

in hell, where his bones dwell,

thou wouldst say not:

Peace,

be gay!
Nay!

He who lieth knoweth

no song sung could he

answer,

nor thy lies could he judge:

for he knoweth he knoweth not.

Calm he is, in our tongue!

Grey-haired

before peace felled him.

Where he layeth, he worrieth not:

Peace!
But before hence,

he had lived

in this preacher’s worries,

who now doth say:

In peace he lieth.
Both have been something:

and known everything

that hath for them

shadows and lights.

There is no peace therein!

iii

He who hath peace

knoweth not:

for he is not,

yea,

nay, not even in her bowels,

who shall have to birth him.
He hath true peace,

who judgeth not as yet,

and shall be judged not.
But he is not:

he is not even nothing—

for nothing is;

but he’s not.
Alas!
If I shall sing

in most tenored voice

the sweetest melodies,

he shall not hear

who has peace—

but is not.

iv

As he is lowered there,

the choir sings on

on this preacher’s
                             mourning,
who yesterday blessed the soul

of he who lies.
He lived; they lived;

but had not thought

of these things

of 
peace:
for the living rarely think

to such end,

and the dead think

not of a start.
Who now thinks

of these things?
He who has not been—

and who is surpassed

by Nothing.
Yet,
yea, Nothing thinks not.

But One,

He who only is!

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