Poems (Cromwell)/Intuition
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INTUITION
Rhythms of exultation flow
In dusky regions far behind
The formal meadows of the mind.
Sighs waft syllables, as blow
The winds the grasses to and fro.
In dusky regions far behind
The formal meadows of the mind.
Sighs waft syllables, as blow
The winds the grasses to and fro.
The shape of cloud, as thought effaces
Dream, eclipses the moon's lustre.
My winged stars, like swallows, cluster
In the deep enchanted spaces
That imagination traces.
Dream, eclipses the moon's lustre.
My winged stars, like swallows, cluster
In the deep enchanted spaces
That imagination traces.