POETRY: A Magazine of Verse
THE TAPESTRY
O bygone raptures, bygone tortures,
Why have you become no more
Than the colors and the shadows
Of a distant faded tapestry . . .
Wrinkled by a breeze?
Lifted by tenderness, I have sung:
"This shall wing me through dusk,
Lighten the anguish of death."
Stunned by betrayal, I have groaned:
"This shall darken the dawn,
Stab me with every sunbeam,
Lame me so long as I live."
And now you are no more mine
Than the colors and the shadows
Of a distant faded tapestry . . .
Wrinkled by a breeze.
Yet I continue to spend hours
Figuring what lies beyond—
A window, a doorway or a wall.
[126]
