I think of the twenty thousand poems of Li Po and wonder, do words follow me or I them -- a word drunk? I do not care about fine phrases, the whoring after honor, the stipend, the gift, the grant -- but I would feed on an essence until it yields to me my own dumb form -- the weight raw, void of intent; to see behind the clarity of my glass the birth of new creatures suffused with light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IVY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN THERE IS PEACE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON GOOD-BYE MY FANCY! by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 98. AL-RASCHID by EDWIN ARNOLD GRAVE OF HOWARD by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES SACRED FRUIT by HAZEL MCGEE BOWMAN A DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY MARCH OF HIGHLANDERS INTO LANCASHIRE, 1745 by JOHN BYROM |