Not our good luck nor the instant peak and fulfillment of time gives us to see The beauty of things: nothing can bridle it. God who walks lightning-naked on the Pacific has never been hidden from any Puddle or hillock of the earth behind us. Between the mean mud tenements and huddle of the filth of Babylon, the river Euphrates; And over the tiled brick temple buttresses And the folly of a garden on arches, the ancienter simple and silent tribe of the stars Filed, and for all her gods and the priests' mouths God also moved on the city.... Dark ships drawing in from the sundown and the islands of the south, great waves with gray vapor in your hollows And whitening of high heads coming home from the west, From Formosa or the skerries of Siberia and the sight of the eyes that have widened for the sky-peaks of Asia: That he touched you is no wonder, that you slid from his hand Is an old known tale to our foreland cypresses, no news to the Lobos granite, no marvel To Point Pinos Light and the beacon at Point Sur. But here is the marvel: he is nowhere not present: his beauty, it is burning in the midland villages And tortures men's eyes in the alleys of cities. Far-flown ones, you children of the hawk's dream future, when you lean from a crag of the last planet on the ocean Of the far stars, remember we also have known beauty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAMS: BOOK I, 1 by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE DEAR PRESIDENT by JOHN JAMES PIATT SONNET: 71 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE: 3. IN PORT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY DIRGE FOR THE LATE JAMES CURRIE, M.D., OF LIVERPOOL by LUCY AIKEN |