UPON SEEING NOTES MADE BY A POET by MILDRED W. CLARK

I feel the gentle dimness of a light
Which reached the shadowed heart and left it gay,
That made bright flowers grow in homely clay,
And brushed the rolling, film-swept clouds in flight.
I see the fleeing word, which erudite
Had scorned, upraised to grandeur, thus to flay
The careless handlers of such precious play
Of syllable and thought, where he found height.
Ah, quiet hand that touched uncolored mood
And roused it to a conflagration, burned
By deep and tensest feeling, may your swift
And steadied words, like sharp-cut gems, subdued,
When caught by light, inspire the blind, unlearned,
And show them, stumbling, how to lift, to lift!

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