The Plate

Now he has silver in him. When sometime

Death shall boil down unnecessary fat

To reach the nub of our identity,

             When in the run of crime

The skull is rifled for the gold in teeth,

And chemistry has eaten from the spine

Superfluous life and vigor, why then he

Will show a richness to be wondered at,

             And shall be thought a mine

Whose claim and stake are stone and floral wreath.

The body burns away, and burning gives

Light to the eye and moisture to the lip

And warmth to our desires, but it burns

             Whatever body lives

Into extinction though it wear a plate

Of armor in it: therefore do we thrive

In fear of fire, in terror of the ship

That carries us to fire. A soldier learns

             To bear the silver weight

Where in his head the fire is most alive.