Poems
THEME/S
Surely in future ages some
Thinker will brood upon a theory
That my strange poet-passion of love has come
To worship an august philosophy
Whose intellectual rays
Of truth have woven all this dream of hair
Streaming in beauty from an angel face:
Else how could man give such ideal praise?
Was ever woman pure enough to bear
A mirrored paradise
Within the changeful glory of her eyes?
Poor sage! whose bloodless kin denied
Lips to the smile that Dante sighed
Through hollow years to see again—
Will you with your unpassioned abstract brain
Make clear how the august philosophy
Which I was song-allured to speak
By symbol of a white brow's majesty
Had one dark mole upon its rapturous cheek?...
That miracle you never shall explain,
For incorruptible truth has beckoned me
Not through a drudging wisdom but because
A woman's mouth breathed like a perfect rose
Deep-rooted in her soul's divinity!
Page 366
Home
Disciples
Amal Kiran
Books
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.