To Arthur Mizener br br Hit mus be now de Kingdom comiri br And de year of Jubilo . . . br br Tail-spinning from the shelves of sky br See how it dips and tacks and tosses br To cast a beam in the mind's eye: br Who will count the gains and the losses br On the Day of Jubilo? br br Public accountant with double entry br Enter in red war's final cast br In the black column the pacing sentry, br Old women picking the hogs' mast br For the Day of Jubilo br br Lean to the crowded air and hear, br Eavesdropper, how it goes inside br Your own deaf and roaring ear: br Boys caress the machines they ride br On the Day of Jubilo br br After the dry and sticking tongue br After our incivility br Who will inflate the poet's lung br Gone flat of this indignity br Till the Day of Jubilo? br br Scholar, no dog will have your day br For all your capital's run out, br Wry baby in wet disarray- br Scholar, prepare your meagre clout br For the Day of Jubilo br br Under the slip and slide of day br Think, at the end you'll never be br Trapped in a fox-hole of decay br Nor snip nor glide of history br After the Day of Jubilo br br All our jubilant eyes are raised, br Jubilo. Over the barbican br On the great Day pure and dazed, br Empty of heart the empty man br Of the Day of Jubilo br br Then for the Day of Jubilo br The patient bares his arm at dawn br To suck the blood's transfusing glow br And then when all the blood is gone br (For the Day of Jubilo) br br Salt serum stays his arteries br Sly tide threading the ribs of sand, br Till his lost being dries, and cries br For that unspeakable salt land br Beyond the Day of Jubilo.