Wednesday, March 16, 2011

A Poem Draft

No Poet

He alone is Shahanshah who speaks the butterfly;
the poet strives, and hopes to be, such a king before he dies.
To be a poet this must be: but such is far too high for me.

He alone can give true song whose word enchants with love
even sorrow on its throne, to bring the dead above.
To be a poet this must be: ah! such is far too high for me.

He alone has holy art who bids the dead come forth,
who lowly soldiers' servants heal with words of boundless worth.
To be a poet this must be: yet such is far too high for me.

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