Poem by Amy Lowell

Frankincense and Myrrh

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings
Vibrate most readily to minor chords,
Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words
Which voice the passion and the ache of things:
Illusions beating with their baffled wings
Against the walls of circumstance, and hoards
Of torn desires, broken joys; records
Of all a bruised life’s maimed imaginings.
Now you are come!  You tremble like a star
Poised where, behind earth’s rim, the sun has set.
Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb
And mute, I have no tones to answer.  Far
Within I kneel before you, speechless yet,
And life ablaze with beauty, I am dumb.

1. Reaping
2. Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H.
3. Red Slippers
4. On Carpaccio’s Picture: The Dream of St. Ursula
5. Epitaph in a Church-Yard in Charleston, South Carolina

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