spring

Poem: God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • a thing by me: To the Author

    Dearest, you must remember: Even fields grow tired. If the mighty earth itself must rest, How much more must you? Season after season of corn (on…

  • Poem: Lachrimae Amantis

    What is there in my heart that you should sue so fiercely for its love? What kind of care brings you as though a stranger to my door through the long…

  • Poem: Barter

    Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And…

I like the idea of this, the feel - nothing lasts forever but nothing fades for long.