What Shall I Give My Children

What shall I give my children? who are poor, Who are adjudged the leastwise of the land, Who are my sweetest lepers, who demand No velvet and no velvety velour; But who have begged me for a brisk contour, Crying that they are quasi, contraband Because unfinished, graven by a hand Less than angelic, admirable or sure. My hand is stuffed with mode, design, device. But I lack access to my proper stone And plenitude of plan shall not suffice Nor grief nor love shall be enough alone To ratify my little halves who bear Across an autumn freezing everywhere . . .