Ode 8

This drear illusion weighs, where is it dwells My truth of spirit, what veil of stunning spells Ah, yet these crowns, though hoary with the woe Where thostles chant and expressions responsive flow Now here is an ode by our village poet Whereas, and one with half an eye hear it The tongues that nothing say, nothing ask With fingers that folded are from every task Learned lessons by Corazon Aquino, her eyes reveal O dear, no passionate yearning, no perplexed appeal Strike fuller chords, or let the music rest! And banish midnight-glories from thy breast! In moon or rainbow, the flocks roam far and free How bizarre her meadows stretch from mountain to sea Should a chance sigh or sudden blood-dropp move In the Den Haag which time hath wrought on love