Ambitions playing:
The first, inseparable
From gold-edged printing
On Daedalus’ table.
Desire for flight;
Chariot-usurping skill.
The god of light
Torn from the godlike will.
What tears of amber,
What pre-natal force
From dawn’s dark chamber
Fired me on my course?
Three harps: one
From emulation drew its strength.
The rising sun:
A harp at arm’s length.
The second word of day;
The second word:
A harp a hand away
Held by a human cord.
By cypress taught and yew,
My soul I made
Write old ambition new
And qualify the laurel’s shade.
I set one grave apart,
Gave speech to stone:
“Come back to my sad heart
And play this harp of bone!
Little for the sun I cared,
Little for renown.
I saw the unknown, unshared,
True grave. So I lay down;
Lay down, and closed my eyes
To the end of all time,
The end of birth’s enterprise
And death’s small crime.
Then at once the shrouded harp
Was manifest. I began
To touch, though pain is sharp,
The ribs of the man.
Leave a Reply