Poetry Corner: A Vision

And here is another trifle of juvenilia poetry found in a shoebox. This was when I was entering my ‘Clark Ashton Smith’ phase.


IN a garden where golden lianas lean
Entwining boughs that house their drooping lines
And flowers hold a fragrant congregation
There I, silent, lie, secreted by the vines
Eager for that vision rumor warns to leave unseen

A dangerous angel drifts on outspread wings
Armed with girdling aureoles and rays
Garbed with circling constellations
Crowned with moons of crescent phase
I risk my eyes and more to see these things

I pain myself, profaning what I look on and adore
Till hair like strands of night eclipse her face
Love and stir the planets from their stations
But it cannot pull me from my hiding place
Where I gaze my eyes to blindness and then see nothing more.