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I only knew one poet in my life	A
BROWNING	B
I have not known a poet but myself	C
If I'm indeed one as I ought to be	D
Considering how these many years I've made	E
The Muse now such a woman in my life	A
No flesh and blood could put to proof the art	F
With which I wooed her ay and woo her still	G
Though as I deem ere this she has been won	H
I have not known another as I say	I
Who could be called a poet or has been	J
Acclaimed such by the not too wise in wit	K
Who label literature's itinerants	I
Professed discerners as in every art	F
With sheer cock surety there be those who	L
Deem their diploma Fame's own warranty	D
Who in this journal or in that take stock	M
O' the issue of thought's making song at best	N
A poor result not to much tending or if	O
Esteemed good e'en though flawed in some way still	G
So these crumb gatherers for the multitude	P
Still dole their wit or wisdom week by week	Q
Piece out our imperfections choose elect	R
In this or that craft him or her as first	S
Second or third whatever the degree	D
Arrived at in the inkling of a whim	T
And so with their diploma set the seal	U
To the rank world's preferment failing which	V
Mere poets must have a bad time of it	K
Or haply some one in song's craft himself	C
Elects himself the chief musician and	W
The other nine and ninety jugglers who	L
Jig ape like in the halo of his vogue	X
'Tis then song does become ridiculous	I
And the proud name of poet poor indeed	Y
Proud name Alas the power of pride is gone	Z
And the dull world's humility is theirs	I
The new bards who unlike the old gauge not	A2
The grandeur of the office they fulfil	U
The old knight errantry of Song who rode	B2
Triumphant with God's targe in the world's eye	C2
Emblazoned with the heraldry of soul	U
In this wise or in that the squires of Truth	D2
Love's worshippers or Beauty's votaries	I
Whose mere life was the melody of all	U
It may in fact be song at best is but	E2
The rind of this life's apple not its core	F2
And the chief singers still but mendicants	I
Of the world's love and yet it is in sooth	D2
The one thing sweet to its own votary	F2
As to the painter his art too is all	U
And to the sculptor his Ay though but rinds	I
At best allowed of our life's apples here	F2
Yet the rind no less than the core is part	F
O' the perfect fruit more toothsome than the core	F2
So the white flesh is eaten with it so	I
Song includes life as life including song	G2
Retains the sweetness of its strength and yields	I
To all sustainment and fruition too	L
Though as within the earthy fruit thought's pulp	H2
Is th' first thing still and failing which indeed	Y
The eater then deems his enjoyment null	U
Song without life is such a withered fruit	I2
Ah but thou sayest that song's subserviency	I
To life the mere foot on the daily fact	J2
Treading not the imaginary air	F2
But the mire of the actual breeds alloy	U
Too gross for beauty that 'tis not in these	I
The soilure of the animal the slag	K2
Of the material or custom's pack	L2
Ay not in these the effluent wings dilate	M2
The breath diviner has its issue nor	F2
Spirit to heaven finds the nearest way	I
And rightly sayest Life in these is all	U
And has with these its ending too but song	G2
That more than life of which the poet sings	I
With power authentic in each syllable	U
As the moon sends a gleam down watery glooms	I
To hint of heaven song as it were unwraps	I
All the dense folds of life one by one so	I
To find a spark of the divine or tears	I
The bodily vesture from the breathing man	N2
And on the soul's escape pursuing sings	I
Of th' more than life which 'neath the earthy rags	I
For years it may be blind and deaf and dumb	O2
Was so uncognisant that God was near	F2
That heaven was possible and the escape	P2
So easy when His sesame was said	Q2
As thou I then on song this value set	R2
That it can leaven life a yeast of soul	U
So quickening us we are not mere dough but	E2
Dough with a resurrection in it here	F2
And capable of any miracle	U
At that we'll let it stand sometime elsewhere	F2
With other eyes and other ears we may	I
Perceive a higher meaning in it all	U
Song perfect then or so life perfect we	D
Shall be the song not make it any more	F2

Robert Crawford

Proem. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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