So often the words of a poet seem both mysterious and magical to me. This poem seemed to captured my thoughts about the elusiveness of painting pictures with our words.
The Poet’s Secret
The poet’s secret I must know,
If that will calm my restless mind.
I hail the seasons as they go,
I woo the sunshine, brave the wind.
I scan the lily and the rose,
I nod to every nodding tree,
I follow every stream that flows,
And wait beside the steadfast sea.
I question melancholy eyes,
I touch the lips of women fair:
Their lips and eyes may make me wise,
But what I seek for is not there.
In vain I watch the day and night,
In vain the world through space may roll;
I never see the mystic light
Which fills the poet’s happy soul.
Through life I hear the rhythmic flow
Whose meaning into song must turn;
Revealing all he longs to know,
The secret each alone must learn.
by Elizabeth Stoddard
The round-up this week is over at http://ginasblogging.blogspot.com/