"They Gave Him Vinegar to Drink"

OH, NOW they come, the channering rains come down,
The years, the rains, with worrying tongue and tone;
Water rubs steel to rust and rain rots bone,
Rots hands, rots brows worn down with their long frown.
Living and dead, flesh melts and teeth stain brown,
The firm brain turns, like butter on warm stone,
Runny and brown again, and down they drone:
The churning channering rains still chisel down.

Oh, now the round clouds close, and now they wean
Their rust-robed crying child, their grief-stained green
Worn knight of bitter drink and crown of thorn —
They chide no more; the years, the tears, the lean
Embittered rains find him eroded clean:
The eaten bone then feels no need to mourn.