Delmore Schwartz

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I Am to My Own Heart Merely a Serf

I am to my own heart merely a serf 
And follow humbly as it glides with autos 
And come attentive when it is too sick, 
In the bad cold of sorrow much too weak, 
To drink some coffee, light a cigarette 
And think of summer beaches, blue and gay. 
I climb the sides of buildings just to get 
Merely a gob of gum, all that is left 
Of its infatuation of last year. 
Being a servant of incredible assumption, 
Being to my own heart merely a servant.

I have been sick of its cruel rule, as sick 
As one is sick of chewing gum all day; 
Only inside of sleep did all my anger 
Spend itself, restore me to my role, 
Comfort me, bring me to the morning 
Willing and smiling, ready to be of service, 
To box its shadows, lead its brutish dogs, 
Knowing its vanity the vanity of waves.

But when sleep too is crowded, when sleep too 
Is full of chores impossible and heavy, 
The looking for white doors whose numbers are 
Different an equal, that is, infinite, 
The carriage of my father on my back, 
Last summer, 1910, and my own people. 
The government of love’s great polity, 
The choice of taxes, the production, 
Of clocks, of lights, and horses, the location 
Of monuments, of hotels, and of rhyme, 
Then, then, in final anger, I wake up! 
Merely wake up once more, 
                                            once more to resume 
The unfed hope, the unfed animal, 
Being the servant of incredible assumption, 
Being to my own heart merely a serf.