Sonnets At Christmas II

Ah, Christ, I love you rings to the wild sky

And I must think a little of the past:

When I was ten I told a stinking lie

That got a black boy whipped; but now at last

The going years, caught in an accurate glow,

Reverse like balls englished upon green baize-

Let them return, let the round trumpets blow

The ancient crackle of the Christ's deep gaze.

Deafened and blind, with senses yet unfound,

Am I, untutored to the after-wit

Of knowledge, knowing a nightmare has no sound;

Therefore with idle hands and head I sit

In late December before the fire's daze

Punished by crimes of which I would be quit.