There’s one that I once loved so much
I am no more the same.
I give thanks for that transforming touch.
I tell you not his name.
He has become a sign to me
For flowers and for fire.
For song he is a sign to me
And for the broken lyre.
And I have known him in a book
And never touched his hand.
And he is dead—I need not took
For him through his green land.
Heaven may not be. I have no faith,
But this desire I have—
To take my soul on my last breath,
To lift it like a wave,
And surge unto his star and say,
His friendship had been heaven;
And pray, for clouds that closed his day
May light at last be given!
And say, he shone at noon so bright
I learned to run and rejoice!
And beg him for one last delight—
The true sound of his voice.
There’s one that once moved me so much
I am no more the same;
And I pray I too, I too, may touch
Some heart with singing flame.
By Grace Fallow Norton from The New Poetry, An Anthology 1917 Ed. by Harriet Monroe
HT: Elizabeth M
A Crazed Girl
THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, ‘O sea-starved, hungry sea.’
William Butler Yeats
Comment by Anonymous — February 14, 2012 @ 4:58 am