THE  PRODIGAL  SON
 
Clutter horsed with a windmill amid the pattermarks 
and drew up worn socks at the door, steaming, 
and over where the tongue wagged the knocker knocked: 
Not-a-rat! not-a-tatter! -- so like it was, 
till a hole came bright with eyes 
and the awl said, Who goes there? in a long, lust whisper. 
And it was raining cats and digs beyond the hills, 
but inside the hall a sing of lightness swooned upon the floor 
and a brought of gladness felt ringing for the sonly neck 
and sweetly crossed the bliss-adders in that kinly frame: 
for O! my sin (he said) has come home to me, 
my long-last sin, forever at my buck and kill, has come 
         home to me! 
And a snake cropped out of his netted hair 
and the clouts dripped slowly down as the naked sun 
         wished clean 
on an open door in a land that was loud with cheer, 
while he, the faster, took sweet flesh from the hand of 
         his havenly lord. 

Now another son belingered there, older than the first, 
amad in the shadows against the shine of the homecomer: 
but the smile of his father, combing swiftly the outer dark, 
caught him broody in a silver wring. 
For O! my sin (he said) was lust and is fond, 
and this is meat for you, as well for me. 

                     (1940)