Poems
In knowledge of the clouds that flit—
Pale birds of Heaven, across the sky—
Time's slow hands weaving bit by bit
A manifold embroidery
Of all things born to live and die.
Pale birds of Heaven, across the sky—
Time's slow hands weaving bit by bit
A manifold embroidery
Of all things born to live and die.
So was he fashioned that his thought
Suffered when something would annul
Those words his brain divinely wrought—
And left him, for the beautiful,
Merely dark shades confused and dull.
Suffered when something would annul
Those words his brain divinely wrought—
And left him, for the beautiful,
Merely dark shades confused and dull.
And all his suffering rose and drew
Pale phantoms on his anguished mind,
Which overcast and overthrew
His soul—as poisonous serpents wind
Their victims, so his thoughts would blind.
Pale phantoms on his anguished mind,
Which overcast and overthrew
His soul—as poisonous serpents wind
Their victims, so his thoughts would blind.
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