Sunday Gift

Hyam Plutzik

I Am Disquieted When I see Many Hills

I am disquieted when I see many hills,

As one who looks down on the backs of tremendous cattle,

Shoulder to shoulder, munching in silence the grass

In a timeless region.



Where time is not, and event and breath are nothing,

Yet we who are lost in time, growing and fading

In the shadow of majesty, cannot but dumbly yearn

For its stronger oblivion.



Reject this archaic craving to be a herdsman

Of the immortals. Until they trample you down

Be still the herdsman's boy among these giants

And the ridges of laurel.