A century past, Longfellow laid down his paper and pen,
to wish the world good-bye in his eternal slumber;
the words of power wove thoroughout that age
Poe, Raleigh, Whitman, Bronte, Rossetti in thought
saw an eternal summer, an eternal spring where flowering
were their thoughts, upon deep pools radiating light,
as they blended nature with reality, beauty with justice;
In my heart, I most envied Tennyson the past century,
his mythical and colorful verses, of the seashell spirling,
of the prestige he placed on the seashore;
they knew no bondage of mind, nor were their feet fettered,
for with thunderous run, with thought fleeting,
with sweet inspiration, rosy as the sun,
did once the winds blow on their hair as they thought;
shall I dream for this long-buried treasure, for sleight-of-hand?
I wish with unfathomable thirst, passion undying;
for beyond man's time I look, beyond cities of metal,
to elm tree leafy and spring sun red in mid-morning
where reality always had its part with nature;
a hilly view of the lands over the wind ever sweeping
in this fragile world, a slight delusion of today's world;
like a stain ran the rain as the maiden wept
in virtue, surrounded by warm summer rain long ago;
'tis belov'd Shakespeare, with diademed verse that stands
still as stone, mighty as cold creek thundering upon cypress falls,
hearken the music of the ages, o' why not?
Belov'd fabled poets with such exciting note wrote
what ceasinglessly did many a bard proud;
from mountain's height
into endless night
plunged their words, and consumed the deep
as the deep lit with the flames of Jove!
So tore the flames in the bottom
so hot, of such ire! roared the flames in the streaming sky
as cold stars rose and reflected in the branching river;
a' song of longing, how you break my heart!
Imagination shall never dry in my deep wells
for in there burns an eternal summer,
one longing and wishing to quook
as the silent winter of long ago once shook.
"Lest the starlight seize me in ecstasy,
mirrored in them are the centuries of thought."