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Poem by Eleanor Farjeon
What light was in me once unguarded was And any wind could blow it any way, A flame in tatters, with all moods for laws, Wildest at midnight, pallidest by day. A fire too tossed for comfort to the cold, A gleam too blurred for guidance to the dark, Shifting caprice of red and blue and gold Flickering wanly from the troubled spark; And other times a curl of azure smoke, Like the last puff of incense that is seen To vanish from the brazier, rose to cloak The light until I feared it never had been. But now the crystal-clear white globe of peace Has closed my spirit in, that it may burn Steadily to the stars, and henceforth cease The wandering way of any wind to turn.
Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org