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A heartwarming gift for you on this cold Valentine’s Day: “Phyllis Loves Kelly,” 60 years of collected love poems from poet Phyllis Gotlieb to her husband, Kelly...

 

 

The Sorrowful Fate of Bartholomew Jones

1Bartholemew Jones made his money in mines,
2And although he has left us his fame still shines
3As a man who was knowing in various lines.
4It wasn't his line to write or to spell,
5To teach or to preach, to dig or to fell,
6But to handle his shares, and to keep out of hell.
7He knelt every day at the foot of the Throne
8(To use his own words), yet he wore (it was known)
9His garments of grace o'er a heart made of stone.
10And when Death would no longer concede a respite,
12As a man of whom no one could question the right.
13He wandered for long o'er the pavements of gold,
14Saw wonders and glories around him unfold,
15But somehow all seemed to him dismal and cold.
16He tired of the sun's everlasting rays,
17Grew sick of the harps and the hymns and the praise,
18And drooped in the glare of the glittering ways.
19"If this be the heaven I laboured to win,
20I'd better have taken full measure of sin,"
21He moaned to the angel who first let him in.
22Said the angel, while looking to bolt and to bar,
23"I fear, sir, you're somewhat mistaken so far,
24But this is the hell where the hypocrites are."

Notes

11] hied: hurried. Back to Line
 What thou lovest well remains,
                  the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
                or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
    Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
Ezra Pound Pisan Cantos, LXXXI
Maps