Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO A HERMIT THRUSH, by MARY SINTON LEITCH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO A HERMIT THRUSH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Great lyricist, you sing of vanished ships
Last Line: I think there are no poets save the birds.
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


Great lyricist, you sing of vanished ships
Whose spirits haunt the mist-enshrouded dune,
Or of long-dead, forgotten lovers' lips
That drank their draughts of joy beneath the moon;

Of Cleopatra's form, of Helen's face,
Of Ceasar's fame: Egypt and Greece and Rome
You know not but all glory and all grace
Within your cosmic strains are gathered home.

And I who feel within my aching breast
Your own wild, sweet necessity to sing; --
When clouds, rose-petalled, blossom in the west
Or when arbutus buds are pink with spring,

I must delay and grope for speech, with art
Striving -- in vain -- to capture ecstacy; --
While unrestrained you pour your lyric heart --
Your lyric soul itself -- upon the sky,

So clearly soars your pure, celestial song
Above poor human need of stammering words.
Ah, that is poetry! Speech does beauty wrong.
I think there are no poets save the birds.





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