"Shine, poet! in thy place, and be content" - Wordsworth
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The Freedom of Storms
This is what I woke up to this morning:
What a beautiful thing God has made winter to be,
by stripping the trees and letting us see their shapes and forms.
What a freedom does it seem to give to the storms.
- Dorothy Wordsworth
_____________This morning the world was gone; Only grayness outside, so dense, so close Against the window that it seemed no season, No place, and no thought almost, Except what preys at the edge of thought, unknown; But it was snow. The flakes, extremely fine And falling unseen, still made the bough Of the hemlock whiten. Here and now - Twig by twig, needle by needle - a plume Reached through the grayness, Intricate purity that somehow could assume Its own being in its own space, Out of nothing... ___________________or out of a cold November Dawn that anyone could see, this grace That no one can ever quite remember.
Out of nothing.
ReplyDelete_____________This morning the world was gone;
Only grayness outside, so dense, so close
Against the window that it seemed no season,
No place, and no thought almost,
Except what preys at the edge of thought, unknown;
But it was snow. The flakes, extremely fine
And falling unseen, still made the bough
Of the hemlock whiten. Here and now -
Twig by twig, needle by needle - a plume
Reached through the grayness,
Intricate purity that somehow could assume
Its own being in its own space,
Out of nothing...
___________________or out of a cold November
Dawn that anyone could see, this grace
That no one can ever quite remember.
-Hayden Carruth (#1 from "the sleeping beauty")