Israel Zangwill: Oliver Singing

Israel Zangwill

(1864-1926)

 

Oliver Singing

 

Oliver’s singing

Comes down to my study,

As I sit in the twilight

Poring the problem

Of this old battered planet,

This universe tragical,

Bloodily twirling.

 

Nearly all his small span

And through both of his birthdays

This senseless hell-fury,

This horror has hurtled,

Yet he lies in his cot,

Happy, sleepy and singing.

Thus – I muse – at the core –

Of our battered old planet,

Something young and untainted.

Something gay and undaunted,

Like a bud in its whiteness

Like a bird in its joy.

Through the foul-smelling darkness,

Through the muck and the slaughter,

Pushes steadily forward.

Singing.

 

Israel Zangwill poetry

kempis poetry magazine

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