Saturday, February 12, 2011
"With Unbeclouded Eyes."
On these September days of softer light,
When reddened leaves are dropping from the walls,
And in the distant sky are sounds of birds,
And all is wet with dew--
Then I perceive a little of that land,
That land which human voices sometimes fill
With sudden sound; or in the hush of spring,
Or on some summer morning's early peace,
I hear its distant murmur.
And although I strive so hard to hear and see,
All, all is gone like fragments of a dream
Leaving behind a trail of coloured mist
And dim forgetfulness.
A poem such as this one is a reason for wading through the swath of Milly Jourdain's mediocre efforts. Admittedly, stanza 2 is a letdown, but stanza 1's "Then I perceive a little of that land, / That land which human voices sometimes fill / With sudden sound" is beautiful. I love the delicate repetitions, the line break between"sometimes fill" and "With sudden sound," the odd yet bracing focus on "land" rather than its details.