Issue 12, Spring 1956
Lictor or heavy slave would wear it best,
The robe of uncapricious Emperor,
Waging a profitable war, at least
Knowing rule lay in gathered fold, not them.
But Julian bursts the doubly sacred hem;
Weighted enough by every growing hair.
Born in mid progress of his history
He is perceptive of the sudden wrong
In those deliberate laws he framed today:
The absolute is hard to formulate:
Failure, desire, seek out their man; the date
Is relative, they die once they belong.