Perpetual Light : a memorial by William Rose Benét
page 95 of 101 (94%)
page 95 of 101 (94%)
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Nor any dream furls its dim sails in her port;
Nor any memory makes her manifest; Nor by a measure of days mete out her measure, Nor through remembered poignance pluck her strings. For she, like moonlight on some hidden treasure, Steals glimmering down and renders vain these things. Then I cried, "Love!"--but stars not even shrinking Glittered the same and night remained the same. Slowly I swam on dark tides of my thinking, Yet like no moon she rose to hear her name. I lay like sand unrimmed of sea and crisping Under dead sunlight, parched as bleaching bone, Till all seas shrank and dried, and the last lisping Of beaded water vanished from the stone. Then jagged lightning forked, the thunder shattered Like stunning guns. Amain the trees were blown And shrieked and writhed and whirled their branches tattered Like patriarchs waking to some end long-known,-- All my heart's storm--assault and wild repulsion-- And hissing sand-coils swaying high and dim-- Flash blinding-bright! And through that last revulsion I saw her passing on the desert's rim. TIME WAS Time was when you would enter |
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