Ah, Christ, I love you rings to the wild sky br And I must think a little of the past: br When I was ten I told a stinking lie br That got a black boy whipped; but now at last br The going years, caught in an accurate glow, br Reverse like balls englished upon green baize- br Let them return, let the round trumpets blow br The ancient crackle of the Christ's deep gaze. br Deafened and blind, with senses yet unfound, br Am I, untutored to the after-wit br Of knowledge, knowing a nightmare has no sound; br Therefore with idle hands and head I sit br In late December before the fire's daze br Punished by crimes of which I would be quit.