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.
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