I do not attach much importance to the publication or non publication of my poetry and never have done. Most of it (the published part) appeared five, ten, fifteen or even thirty or more years after they were written. The few recently published in magazines (not all of them new, e.g. the sonnets) owed their fate to Nolini's eagerness and not to my initiative. But the vast bulk of what I have written (long poems mostly) lies on shelf and in drawer, most of it for more than a decade, awaiting either dissolution or an interminable revision or total recasting which at the present rate may well retain them there a decade or two more. But that is my own idiosyncrasy—it cannot be a rule or example for others.
I have sailed the golden ocean And crossed the silver bar; I have reached the Sun of knowledge, The earth-self's midnight star.
Its fields of flaming vision, Its mountains of bare might, Its peaks of fiery rapture, Its air of absolute light,
Its seas of self-oblivion, Its vales of Titan rest, Became my soul's dominion, Its Island of the Blest.
Alone with God and silence, Timeless it lived in Time; Life was His fugue of music, Thought was Truth's ardent rhyme.
The Light was still around me When I came back to earth Bringing the Immortal's knowledge Into man's cave of birth.
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