Poems: 1943-1947

Poems: 1943-1947

Poems: 1943-1947

Poems: 1943-1947


The river this November afternoon

Rests in an equipoise of sun and cloud:

A glooming light, a gleaming darkness shroud

Its passage. All seems tranquil, all in tune.

Image and real are joined like Siamese twins:

Their doubles draw the willows, a brown mare

Drinks her reflection. There's no margin where

Substance leaves off, the illusory begins.

You and I by the river contemplate

Our ideal selves, glossed here, crystal-divined:

We yearn to them, knowing one sigh of wind

Will rub these precious figures from the slate.

It is not of their transience I'm afraid,

But thinking how most human loves protract

Themselves to unreality -- the fact

Drained of its virtue by the image it made.

O double vision of the autumnal stream,

Teach me to bear love's fusion or diffusion!

O gems of purest water, pure illusion,

Answer my rays and cluster to a theme!

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