Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ADVENT, by HOWARD MCKINLEY CORNING First Line: Last night / the shrill-voiced hounds of march Last Line: Walk with tomorrow. Subject(s): Spring; Winter | ||||||||
Last night The shrill-voiced hounds of March Went baying the white wolves of Winter Back into the deep hills, And this morning a white fog of herons rose from the black marshes Like dreams over sleep. The muted lakes broke their icy drum-heads and turned again to dancing; While everywhere The jeweled daggers of the sun rent in twain The silver vestments of the frost. Sleep is a broken vessel! Out of the prostrate arms of the soil Spring, like a maiden, comes leaping and racing. She combs her hair with the wind And flings from her hands the coin of tears; In her eyes is the smoke of violets, And on her breath the warm musk of earth. Her thighs are girded with the beauty of promise And her vesture is garlanded flowers. But she comes not alone as a singing maiden With birds' nests in her hair; Spring is a memory -- and a vision. Women stand at the door with hands in their aprons, Aching for the fruits of promise And the chansons of peace. They look long at greening fields And regather the harvests of Yesterday -- Beauty, Peace and Remembrance. They watch the ways of returning birds And draw with them arcs across Time, Their silver wings catching the light of Tomorrow. In the moist yard, with unmittened fingers, Winter-freed children Rake from beneath budding hedgerows The black, rotted leaves of Autumn -- The ungathered harvests of sleep. I will go to the highest hill and stand in the coiffeur of the wind. I will catch in my upturned palms The coin of the rain, The golden coppers of the sun, And the fluted daisies of the stars. I will twine them in wreaths for the remembrance of song And the forgetfulness of death. I will throw them over the arms of trees, Over the hedge-rows that run to the morning, Over old gardens that gather the past like forgotten cities. I will strew them in the way of the children of Time, To be hoarded in podded coffers for tomorrow's re-creation, And against that no more going back. I will deck myself with the earth's lavishment, And my heart with the wonder of waiting, And hand in hand with the children of morning Climb the high zenith of accomplished moments. I will stand on the pedestal of the sun And trace an inscription on receding night, While its cohorts fade beyond the flare of advancing banners. We will lift our hands in adoration and invocation To the God of all sowings And all re-incarnations. We will lift our voices with the wind's trumpeting And the clarion of departing moments. We will walk with lifted hearts into advancing days While earth blossoms And we sing. . . . They who walk with Spring Walk with tomorrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOOKING EAST IN THE WINTER by JOHN HOLLANDER WINTER DISTANCES by FANNY HOWE WINTER FORECAST by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN AT WINTER'S EDGE by JUDY JORDAN CHAMBER MUSIC: 34 by JAMES JOYCE ACQUISITION by HOWARD MCKINLEY CORNING |
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