Månadens dikt, igen.

Tro det eller ej, men några minuter efter att jag lade upp månadens dikt, en sorglig analys av narrens liv och levande, hittade jag en till dikt för April. Dikten passar april av två skäl;
1. Diktaren, Robert Graves nämner April.
2. Dikten är en nostalgisk resa genom barndomens och sagornas fantasifigurer. Vilket, om jag minns rätt, var månadens tema?
Och visst har Robert Graves rätt, ju äldre en är, desto svårare är det att hålla fast vid barndomens fantasivärldar.

Babylon 

The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all's poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He's forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April's glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer's gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon

     Robert Graves