Poems
THEME/S
Evening The west is a giant Tamburlaine
Bannering with a sky of blood the marching main.
The east, a hush of white world-witchery,
Is some unveiled supreme Zenocraté.
Yet one transfiguring touch both marvels miss,
Touch that would bring an infinite of bliss,
And in that one touch lost by sun sublime
And moon intense are all the tears of time!
Dream after mystic dream my painter heart
Mixes to erase the tiny shadow and smart
Spoiling earth's mightiest mood of loveliness.
Vain are all dreams—for O the little less
That kills perfection, blinds eternity,
Is the puny spot of self I grasp as me!
If I could feel no more a speck self-dense
But a point of vacant peace, Omnipotence
Would shine through and the finishing touch be given
To make, of earth's light, harmonies of heaven.
19-7-48
Page 114
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