the bagpipe on the hill

so here we are beneath the pallid ray

of summer noontime seeking to escape

for just one moment from the normal shape

of discreet instance so that we might play

a different sort of role where one could say

the angry words to those with mouth agape

that tell apart the angel from the ape

but those are for another cooler day

instead we look to work a better will

in places where the choice is not so bright

as underneath the growing midday roar

of silver needles passing by the hill

each flashing clearly in the brilliant light

so bidding us to join with them and soar

the weight of dream

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

into the noon the sum of all our fears

not caring much about the weight of dream

on every several head until the beam

of milky light reveals the open tears

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

not only terrified but eyes agleam

with anger so this long hard tale of years

not caring much about the weight of dream

has caught each up in both the milk and cream

and blended in the message of our cares

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

all of our secrets in one clouded stream

while all around we feel the touch of stares

not caring much about the weight of dream

in middle day when the truth reigns supreme

denying mercy in the moveless airs

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

not caring much about the weight of dream

to ring the chime

no need for echoes where the silence heaps

up in dark corners waiting for new night

to lower herself and let the breathy might

that we call summer with its sudden leaps

of devastating beauty stay our sleeps

from each astonishment that seems so right

just when it happens then we turn that slight

degree of justice into one that weeps

we are not wrong to ask just what the time

must measure out for each unwanted child

who comes upon the wall and does pause

to beg for mercy nor to ring the chime

of those who think the tenor is too mild

but will uphold the harshest of our laws

on ordinary passage

the voices that are loudest in the dark

need not be those on which we must depend

call on a hope that's ample and not stark

for which new voyage when we first embark

there's no clear meaning that we could intend

the voices which are loudest in the dark

are not the ones we first set out to mark

on whose loud booming our thoughts would perpend

call on a hope that's ample and not stark

that is the task of scholar priest and clerk

here now to master each unworldly trend

the voices that are loudest in the dark

will not be those who cannot just remark

on ordinary passage they must bend

call on a hope that's ample and not stark

allow the motion to ignite a spark

of true humanity before the end

the voices that are loudest in the dark

call on a hope that's ample and not stark

through the middle air

impossible to miss that shining blue

the eye drawn outward to the furthest bound

where sense and vision come together drowned

in the immensity of that deep hue

where worlds and hopes are both slightly askew

some better wisdom is what we have found

where other souls in torment run aground

justice may grant an option to renew

no mind's enough to catch at all we need

for this long voyage through the middle air

though patience grants a chance to set all right

when each has found some soil to plant a seed

and seen it nurtured given proper care

allowed to shoot its blossom into light