Smugly, with essence of avarice
Drifting thickly through the glare
Of orange day, the price
Of life sticking in his stare,
Came the great, fat Tempter.
He came to the pauper artist,
Who with blinking bewilderment
Traveled into the dank mist
With the Tempter toward imminent
And ominous temptation.
Through the world’s icy mirror
Flashed dizzying opulence,
Succulent repasts, and a savor
Of worldly intemperance:
Jewels and spices and furs.
Then the great Tempter said,
“Tis yours, Man of Perfection,
And the cost accounted
Is mere painful perception
And pointed reflection.”
Yet the molder of visions
Turned away from the wealth.
Not forsaking his mission,
The Tempter, with stealth,
Again spun the mirror.
Through the chamber of chance
Echoed thundering applause
And ebullient chants
Of adoration for the cause:
Commendation of art.
Determined to hold
Against the devilish trick,
The artist was bold
And stood as a brick,
Solid and stern.
Then the Tempter yelled, “Lo!”
Before the artist appeared
A form divine with glow
Supreme as it neared
The perfect illumination.
“What, what price is that?”
Swooned the longing creator.
The Tempter smiled, “Incant
What I will, long day and hard labor
Are the only procurers.”
Spring 1968
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