"Qui deridetur ab amico suo sicut ego."—JOB

In the seventies I was bearing in my breast,
         Penned tight,
Certain starry thoughts that threw a magic light
On the worktimes and the soundless hours of rest
In the seventies; aye, I bore them in my breast
        Penned tight.

In the seventies when my neighbours—even my friend -
        Saw me pass,
Heads were shaken, and I heard the words, "Alas,
For his onward years and name unless he mend!"
In the seventies, when my neighbours and my friend
        Saw me pass.

In the seventies those who met me did not know
        Of the vision
That immuned me from the chillings of mis-prision
And the damps that choked my goings to and fro
In the seventies; yea, those nodders did not know
        Of the vision.

In the seventies nought could darken or destroy it,
        Locked in me,
Though as delicate as lamp-worm's lucency;
Neither mist nor murk could weaken or alloy it
In the seventies!—could not darken or destroy it,
        Locked in me.