Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PLATO IN LONDON by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON

Poet Analysis

First Line: THE PURE FLAME OF ONE TAPER FALL
The pure flame of one taper fall

Over the old and comely page:

No harsher light disturb at all
The pure flame of one taper fall
This converse with a treasured sage.
Over the old and comely page:
Seemly, and fair, and of the best,
No harsher light disturb at all
If Plato be our guest,
This converse with a treasured sage.
Should things befall.
Seemly, and fair, and of the best,
Without, a world of noise and cold:
If Plato be our guest,
Here, the soft burning of the fire.
Should things befall.
And Plato walks, where heavens unfold,
Without, a world of noise and cold:
About the home of his desire.
Here, the soft burning of the fire.
From his own city of high things,
And Plato walks, where heavens unfold,
He shows to us, and brings,
About the home of his desire.
Truth of fine gold.
From his own city of high things,
The hours pass; and the fire burns low;
He shows to us, and brings,
The clear flame dwindles into death:
Truth of fine gold.
Shut then the book with care; and so,
The hours pass; and the fire burns low;
Take leave of Plato, with hushed breath:
The clear flame dwindles into death:
A little, by the falling gleams,
Shut then the book with care; and so,
Tarry the gracious dreams:
Take leave of Plato, with hushed breath:
And they too go.
A little, by the falling gleams,
Lean from the window to the air:
Tarry the gracious dreams:
Hear London's voice upon the night!
And they too go.
Thou hast bold converse with things rare:
Lean from the window to the air:
Look now upon another sight!
Hear London's voice upon the night!
The calm stars, in their living skies:
Thou hast held converse with things rare:
And then, these surging cries,
Look now upon another sight!
This restless glare!
The calm stars, in their living skies:
That starry music, starry fire,
And then, these surging cries,
High above all our noise and glare:
This restless glare!
The image of our long desire,
That starry music, starry fire,
The beauty, and the strength, are there.
High above all our noise and glare:
And Plato's thought lives, true and clear,
The image of our long desire,
In as august a sphere:
The beauty, and the strength, are there.
Perchance, far higher
And Plato's thought lives, true and clear,
-1889
In as august a sphere:
Perchance, far higher.




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