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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WITHES OF GOD, by ORVILLE WILLIS JONES
First Line: Is this then immortality: each breath
Last Line: Mere man, bright moth, refulgent pleiades.
First Line: Is this then immortality: each breath
Last Line: Mere man, bright moth, refulgent pleiades.
Is this then Immortality: each breath
Of dawn a nebula of shaping suns
Whose flowing rhythms void incipient Death
As curve on curve, from life to life, Time runs?
And in each sun do seeds of Beauty live,
Awaiting, rhythm-bound, the delivery due --
Some fashion of God's countenance to give
To man -- to flowers, His favor in each hue?
And is this Death: when unsung stars but flash
In passion once and from a very dearth
Of rhythms yield their forms to void and crash
In shrieking protest to the startled earth?
How potent are the Withes of God to these:
Mere man, bright moth, refulgent Pleiades.
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