Verses
—Arrived & Passed On—
they school my hand where measured accents fall,
and bid each wandering syllable stay;
i listen, for their craft has weight through all
the long inheritance of word and way;
yet what arrives before the mind can name,
still warm from some unbidden inward flood,
i cannot bid it wait to earn its flame,
nor teach the wound to counterfeit its blood.
yet I claim no sovereignty of tongue:
i honour what I cannot make my own;
i hold one drop; it bears the whole sea’s song,
and let it find a heart where it is known;
let learned minds perfect their measured art—
one drop may carry all the sea to heart.
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