The Habit Of Perfection - text

Elected silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorled ear;
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear;
Shape nothing, lips: be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew-sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only makes you eloquent
Be shelled, eyes , with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!
Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!
O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward
But you shall walk the cgolden street
Any you unhouse and house the Lord.
And, Poverty, bet hou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at not spun.

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The Habit Of Perfection (with Jan Hrubý)

Maria Hoffmantexty

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