I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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A Modern Voice Cannot Compare The Deeds

A modern voice cannot compare the deeds

That lay unread, drowned by compound degrees;

Exampled in archaism that seeds

The time-lined though less travelled circling seas.


For those whom ever question this design,

And yet remain to all entreaties blind,

Your divers dampened words of soft decline

Spell no more than a wooden and resigned


Acceptance of a spot-lit instant’s breath

Inside the vacuumed vogue so called success;

Recanted then reposed beside the death

Of one more favoured moment’s choked regress.


It is with confidences such I can,

In conscience fair, harvest the ancient land;

Abide not in domains of common man;

On even terms, turn down your tendered hand.