Grace
“I know a noble heart that beats
For one it loves how "wildly well!"
I only know for whom it beats;
But I must never tell!
Never tell!
Hush! hark! how Echo soft repeats,--
Ah! never tell!”
For one it loves how "wildly well!"
I only know for whom it beats;
But I must never tell!
Never tell!
Hush! hark! how Echo soft repeats,--
Ah! never tell!”
—Frances
Sargent Osgood
(First
published in the Broadway Journal on September 6, 1845)
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| Image Courtesy: Flicker.com |
Imagine
being the moon, of being able to move away nowhere, turning away from the earth
to turn back and to see the same blueness; of the nature of wandering that
enables it to come back and face the same side. In writing i-poems, I feel the
same, and it’s a feeling close to wonder. I come back, and face the same angel
of poetry waiting for me, with unremitted passion. I am not distressed at this
glorious routine, of returning at the same spot. Like a river, each time I come
back to poems, they reveal something new. No one, steps into the same river
twice, I remember reading somewhere.
Grace
is the manifestation of the divine upon the earth. I only reflect what I see
upon her face, upon the skin of her being, and upon the ground with her shadow.
Call it fate or destiny; I come back to her, each time, with a different spirit.
She is the reservoir of unending newness and meaning. I only decipher her,
Grace.
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| Image Courtesy: Google |
This
series is dedicated to my dear Grace.
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