A Troubled Untroubled Eye

Blue vaults shall over-reach me in the end When innocent sleep will aid my choosing To venerate the grass in which I’ll lie With a poet’s troubled untroubled eye. Do soothing thoughts these words portend? – As if choice is of our own perusing And every love a melted lover’s sigh Reborn fresh under some new warm-weather sky. But for today, if only now, pretend There’ll be no winning if some the losing Face in the winter welkin by and by, With souls upturned pure on the day they die. So blue shall overarch us in the end When innocent sleep will aid our choosing To venerate the grass in which we lie With a poet’s troubled untroubled eye.