The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests

And figs grew upon thorn,

Some moment when the moon was blood,

Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening

And ears like errant wings,

The devil's walking

On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,

Of ancient crooked will;

Starve, scourge, deride me:

I am dumb,

I keep my secret still.

Fools!

For I also had my hour;

One far fierce hour and sweet:

There was a shout about my ears,

And palms before my feet.