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Transitional Poem
Now that I have lovedA while and not gone blind,I think love's terminalsAre fixed in fire and wind.
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How often, watching the windy boughsJuggle with the moon, or leaningMy body against a windThat sets all earth careening;Or when I have seen flames browsingOn the prairie of night and tossingTheir muzzles up at Orion;Or the sun's hot arsenal spentOn a cloud salientTill the air explodes with light;How often have I perceived a delightWhich parallels the racing mind,But never rides it off the course.
Another fire, another windNow take the air, and IAm matched with a stricter ecstasy.For he whom love and fear enlistTo comb his universeFor what Protagoras missed,
