I The sovereign Poet, who's awakened gasp Flows out from infinite soul to soul along As arrowy moonbeams, unmixed and strong, 5 Sweeten with brightness the dusts of snow In architecture-yielding light,-- Lacking the telling word his feeling shows Kills whatever of sorrow or delight His paradise-enhancing tongue might build 10 Or more mindful heart would clasp. II In our soft light of winter-time When no bird is in the bough And yon black yew is strung with frozen lime 15 At walk I heard a single nightingale Thronging the wood with nightingale's song Resurrecting Spring that summer burned to this: No tindered spirit in the leaf but emptiness. To bind in eternal being --- paradoxical Love! --- 20 Even in coffers small as a nightingale's heart-- What the mad, fragile, passing world has spent. III Straining faces may seem immortal But it is desire that makes the skull a portal! 25 Thus in joyance Joyance does pursue, And to give and take in pleasure is pleasure's all; For from the living the living voice is never parted-- No psalm spoken but gentle-hearted, As though some aching mystery of LIFE and DEATH 30 Moves through human hearts, and steals breath, Touching a veil trembled In a wind anticipated. IV When to this stormy world, this realm of lightnings 35 One electric mortal comes conducting Awful powers whose careless touch enhances The deadest things to life, as paper-ashes thrown From the wild static of an ecstatic hand Or when a rainbow aura's stabbing crown 40 On an X-Ray rears far brighter than the bone, ---Take, take that hand! No matter how alone And however whitened fear, and draining lips, Or other breathless augury eclipse, Still take that hand--- and crush it to your own! 45 V I am awake in the radiant frameless day! Unbounded beginnings start and renew What severer sleep and longer dream forgot-- The dragon-draught forced past blue pinched lips 50 Ignorant of everything save God's solemn name; A coarser sovereign than my slipping sun! For the dream-vision and dream-life at noon Wax alive in the weeping vision that we tear. Rapt with vision, what I now on the hour require 55 Is burning love singing in a burning choir.
From the collection "Ascent"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.