John Huston

How calmly does the olive branch

observe the sky begin to blanch :

without a cry , without a prayer ;

with no betrayal of despair.

Sometime while light obscures the tree ,

the zenith of its life will be :

gone , past , forever .

And from thence, a second history will commence :

a chronicle no longer gold ,

of bargaining with mist and mold ;

and finally the broken stem ,

the plummeting to earth , and then

An intercourse not well designed

for beings of a golden kind

whose native green must arch above

the Earth's obscene , corrupting love .

And still the ripe fruit and the branch

observe the sky begin to blanch :

without a cry , without a prayer ;

with no betrayal of despair .

Oh, courage ! Could you not as well

select a second place to dwell ?

Not only in that golden tree

but in the frightened heart of me ?