April 25, 1996


After Milton and His Sort


across the age of years they called

my moments to possess

these words of men long dust who,

without the tempt of current pleasure,

mirrored in their work the world they breathed

filtered through minds strange to mine


all who scoff the might of word

who laugh the strength of ink to scorn

have never felt as I have felt

their weight when rightly read

as the stroke of the blade forever changes

words, though distant, their pow'r retain

once read ne'er forgotten,

even those bespeaking lies,

my years to come forever changed

I cannot be who I once would be

having grown, I'm not the same


I must have more I cannot slake

this thirst their words impart

knowledge is a worthy quest

on its own merit, were there nothing more

find me the fountain where I may drink

comparing their draughts to my own

for even those not found on God

had things of worth to say

and I must hear them

to find tomorrow's form



Finding Milton, Calvin, Buchan, others,

and their sort in our global free-for-all


After Milton and His Sort
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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