The Age of Copper

The Age of Copper

The copper age was brief. The luster of
that metal led the eye to stare, the hand to grasp.
So glowing and resilient, what smith could handle
It but covet not? And so I did.

Some men think copper stern and hard. A mace
Head they would make it, or nails. But I
Did revel in its softness, its slender neck.
For it is green shelter in December snow.

So quick are copper's hot, electric limbs
That, parted though it be from me, I feel
It still in hair and fingers both. Arsenic
Is a slow and body-wracking death.

Say not that I did shun this noble metal
But rather, say that copper shunneth me.

Birthday Present

That would have been the proper title for this sonnet, except that the words "Birthday Present" have a particular connotation in Middle-earth which I would avoid.

Bronzed

Bronze are the hammers Longbeards use, lest sparks
Of iron fire the deep cavernous air,
And when Tarannon built his hundred barks
Bronze were their nails, immune to ocean's wear.

Nine lustrous copper, one part gentle tin,
Yet imperfections only strengthen it
And age can touch bronze not. It hides the sin
'Neath veils; antiquity not age there writ.

Why beat this brassy ore in forges cold
With mallets? Breath well placed
Will melt it hot and liquid, filling mould
Of mortal clay, immortal flame embraced.

No elf-mail mine, which links of mithril join
About the breast. For my heart, bronze is coin.