Perspective

The grey-dawned day dies early --
And, black, the wall of grinning night
Rushes to crush unborn the hope of sun
Against the lingered darkness, moonless darkness
From the night before.
Yet the spirit need but grasp its earth to know
How immaterial are these walls and roof: the prison
Is the prisoner's, never known to the lark
Whose flight is to the always real
And present realm, where golden
And gay are the mountain peaks and shout
That the cloud that chilled the soul, and the umbral cold
Are but mist and dark-side on a rock
Small beyond seeing in a System all Sun-blazed with light!

Return to "Writings" page to make another selection.