48
Transitional Poem
Welcoming that iron in the soulWhich keeps the spirit whole,Since none but ghosts are satisfiedTo see a glory passing and let it pass.
For I had been a modern moth and hurledMyself on many a flaming world,To find its globe was glass.In you aloneI met the naked light, by you becameVeteran of a flameThat burns away all but the warrior bone.And I shall know, if time should falsifyThis star the company of my night,Mine is the heron's flightWhich makes a solitude of any sky.
24
Farewell again to this adolescent moon; I say it is a bottleFor papless poets to feed their fancy on. Once mine sucked there, and I dreamedThe heart a record for the gramophone— One scratch upon the surface,And the best music of that sphere is gone.
