Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, YET THERE IS ROOM, by THOMAS STURGE MOORE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

YET THERE IS ROOM, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: What boundless contrast in these clear night-skies!
Last Line: In naked bliss, cleave the pure wells of thought.
Alternate Author Name(s): Moore, T. Sturge


I
WHAT boundless contrast in these clear night-skies!
Yea, earth, with all the worthies who now thrive,
Or ever at one moment were alive,
Lose in those shoals all virtue and all size!
"Why prate of bad and good then?" some wit cries.
Yet doth wasp's paper home yield like a hive?
Are maidens ne'er proved true by those who wive?
Shall science not outweigh opinion's lies?
Since man's whole metric prowess is surpassed
By height, depth, width and weight, so, too,
May loyal effort, passion, and grace contrast
With all that makes men good, and, lost to view
Through very grandeur, purposeful pursue
With art divine, aims lovely as they are vast.

II
For major worths pass through our midst unseen
Of most who stare with hope to fill a head
Or warm a heart; being reserved, they shed
Too fine a radiance..have no chance to wean
Crowds from more obvious skill and brilliance. Keen
And thorough students, and they hardly, thread
Confusing claims, while inch by inch is spread
Report of how ill-prized our best have been.
What though alone our dim small planet sound
Discordant 'mid the ether's choral throng?
What though among us men might now be found,
Unnoted and unhailed, who hear the song
That Plato listened for, that Buddha heard,
That Jesus had by heart, both tune and word?

III
Peasants, by no alluring pool seduced,
Peer from the mule-track down through July wood,
Convinced the best swimmer by those clear gulfs could
Be sucked to doom. But, at such fears amused,
Footing their honeymoon, two tourists halt,
Strip, plunge, and find beneath the loud cascade,
Flecked by the Spanish-chestnut's hovering shade,
For youth and health a bath without a fault.
Thus the world's road winds near an Alpine stream,
And many catch, like torrent's beryl gleam,
Flashes from strength with which ideals are fraught;
Yet rare the soul which yearns, is bold and dives:
Still fewer those whose fair confederate lives,
In naked bliss, cleave the pure wells of thought.





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