In Fair Exchange by Bienvenido N. Santos

Weary of inventions, tired of knowledge,

I cannot write of love let alone love:

Show me then where tenderness lies trembling

Under the dripping caves. Put forth your hands

And touch me soft with a life of knowing

Though the Temple stands in the fog alone

And candles burn all night waiting for my

Shadow  on the gate. Hold me, O hold me!

Press the grapes to my lips, teach me the long

Forgotten while the Temple reels strangely

And I ask: On the damp earth in the eaves

Will there be forgiveness?

In the dawn

I shall talk to you of the Homeric sweep

Enfolding mountains and the sounding sea;

And I shall tell you why Tantalus wearied

Of trying, and, wiping away his tears,

Smiled at long last under the apple tree.


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