by John Vance Cheney
In the poet's world, shamed is his art
Before the vibrant silence at his heart.
And well it is that, spurning perfect speech,
Plays the wild beauty always out of reach;
Once by some god-poet caught and bound
The wavering light, the subtile pulse of sound,
That ere it come is gone, — what singer, then,
Would ever dare to lift his voice again!
Last updated January 14, 2019