| |
| I OFTEN spend week-ends in heaven, | |
| And so I know him well. | |
| Most times he is too busy thinking things | |
| To talk; | |
| But then, I like his still aloofness | 5 |
| And superior ease. | |
| I can’t imagine him in armor, or in uniform, | |
| Or blowing like a windy Caesar | |
| Across the fields of Europe, | |
| Or snooping in my mind | 10 |
| To find what I am thinking, | |
| Or being jealous of the darling idols | |
| I have made. | |
| If ever that slim word—aristocrat— | |
| Belonged to anyone, it is to God. | 15 |
| You should see him steadying the wings | |
| Of great thoughts starting out | |
| On flight— | |
| Very like a scientist trying a machine. | |
| Patrician, cool, in a colored coat | 20 |
| Rather like a mandarin’s; | |
| Silver sandals—quite a picture! | |
| I can’t see him | |
| Fluttering in wrathful haste, | |
| Or dancing like a fool. | 25 |
| |
| I don’t go there often— | |
| Only when I’m at my best. | |
| I save up things: | |
| Pictures of the sea wild with white foam, | |
| Stories of engines beating through the clouds, | 30 |
| News of earth in storm and sun, | |
| Some new songs—the best. | |
| |
| He’s fond of being entertained | |
| With what I choose to tell him of myself— | |
| Very kind about tomorrow, | 35 |
| Indifferent of yesterday. | |
| |
| He’s like that— | |
| God in his heaven—alone. | |
| I know, for I made him, put him there | |
| Myself. | 40 |
| |
