Oh, what are words? And what can words convey? Some tiny, dry and lifeless letters flung In sequences to give each brain a tongue? Poor harmless drudges harnessed to a shay? To drag parched thoughts from some long yesterday? Not so! But vibrant strains from music sung -- Eternal echoes! -- when the world was young And prancing Pegasus emerged from clay; Rare, polished jewels to set in Cloisonne; Bright mist of stars that send their light among Remote and shadowed planets; knives that stung With bite of steel and freed us from decay. Words are the lustrous, silver nets we fling To catch our swift emotions on the wing. |