by: Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)
POEMS BY CONRAD AIKEN
is spacious, near things in it seem far,
- And distant things seem near.
- Now in the green west hangs a yellow star.
- And now across old waters you may hear
- The profound gloom of bells among still trees,
- Like a rolling of huge boulders beneath seas.
- Silent as though in evening contemplation
- Weaves the bat under the gathering stars.
- Silent as dew, we seek new incarnation,
- Meditate new avatars.
- In a clear dusk like this
- Mary climbed up the hill to seek her son,
- To lower him down from the cross, and kiss
- The mauve wounds, every one.
- Men with wings
- In the dusk walked softly after her.
- She did not see them, but may have felt
- The winnowed air around her stir;
- She did not see them, but may have known
- Why her son's body was light as a little stone.
- She may have guessed that other hands were there
- Moving the watchful air.
- Now, unless persuaded by searching music
- Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind,
- We guess no angels,
- And are contented to be blind.
- Let us blow silver horns in the twilight,
- And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green,
- To find perhaps, if, while the dew is rising,
- Clear things may not be seen.