The Sphinx

Did it once issue from the carver’s hand

Healthy? Even the earliest conquerors saw

The face of a sick ape, a bandaged paw,

A Presence in the hot invaded land.

The lion of a tortured stubborn star,

It does not like the young, nor love, nor learning;

Time hurt it like a person; it lies, turning

A vast behind on shrill America,

And witnesses. The huge hurt face accuses,

And pardons nothing, least of all success.

The answers that it utters have no uses

To those who face akimbo its distress:

"Do people like me?" No. The slave amuses

The lion: "Am I to suffer always?" Yes.