Thomas MacDonagh

* * *

With only this for likeness, only these words,
I took this June upon the bloom of the earth,
Upon the rare brown and the young green of the earth,
Yearning for power and finding but these words.

The changing tide of radiance in the sky
Is over me, and earth and earth around,
Here where no waters rock, no streets resound--
Earth glory and the glory of the sky.

Around, above -- but far, how far beyond!--
For these will pass, their memory will sleep--
The train of Beauty vain in vain will sweep
Past the dumb soul, the memory beyond.

I cannot grasp that glory with my hand,
Nor clasp my wonder in the casket choice
Of undulant words or words of the straight voice--
I, stammering of speech and halt of hand.