I, one who never speaks,
Listened days in summer trees,
Each day a rustling leaf.
Then, in time, my unbelief
Grew like my running –
My own eyes did not exist,
When I struck I never missed.
Noon, felt and far away –
My brain is a thousand bees.
by Yvor Winters
The night was faint and sheer;
Immobile, road and dune.
Then, for a moment, clear,
A plane moved past the moon.
O spirit cool and frail,
Hung in the lunar fire!
Spun wire and brittle veil!
And tremblingly slowly higher!
Pure in each proven line!
The balance and the aim,
Half empty, half divine!
I saw how true you came.
Dissevered from your cause,
Your function was your goal.
Oblivious of my laws,
You made your calm patrol.
by Yvor Winters
