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Poem by Edith Wharton


Mould and Vase


GREEK POTTERY OF AREZZO.
HERE in the jealous hollow of the mould,
Faint, light-eluding, as templed in the breast
Of some rose-vaulted lotus, see the best
The artist had -- the vision that unrolled
Its flying sequence till completion's hold
Caught the wild round and bade the dancers rest --
The mortal lip on the immortal pressed
One instant, ere the blindness and the cold.

And there the vase: immobile, exiled, tame,
The captives of fulfillment link their round,
Foot-heavy on the inelastic ground,
How different, yet how enviously the same!
Dishonoring the kinship that they claim,
As here the written word the inner sound.



Edith Wharton


Edith Wharton's other poems:
  1. With the Tide
  2. FaunТs Song
  3. Chartres
  4. Song (Come, for the leaf is alight)
  5. A Failure


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