My answer to your skeptic tenderness Shook off the brittle casing of the word To stand revealed in likeness to a sword, Its hardihood the better to profess. "Forever" stood Excalibur, its Yes The flashing sign of the divine absurd Whereon all slights but death may be conferred And universal No's fall powerless. The sword is yours to do with as you will: Fitting your hand, it knows no other hand; It will not tarnish though you spare or kill; Yet I who forged it bid you understand This is no child's blunt weapon that you own Which held thus lightly penetrates the bone. |