A Woman's Reliquary [by Edward Dowden] |
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 | A Woman's Reliquary |  |
27
XLIX
OLD LETTERS
Your letters flinging their good seed—
Wit, counsel, wisdom, thought—
Words that could shape my dream, my deed,
I miss them, do I not?
Wit, counsel, wisdom, thought—
Words that could shape my dream, my deed,
I miss them, do I not?
Yes, but how words dissect, divide
Our truths; their swiftest play
Hastens too slowly, strikes too wide,
Falters or falls away.
Our truths; their swiftest play
Hastens too slowly, strikes too wide,
Falters or falls away.
And now our meanings, whole and sole,
From sense to spirit outleap;
Truth now with joy is integral,
Deep answers unto deep.
From sense to spirit outleap;
Truth now with joy is integral,
Deep answers unto deep.
So when speech comes to claim its share,
We feel, all words beneath,
Tremblings of heart oracular,
Accords of life and death.
We feel, all words beneath,
Tremblings of heart oracular,
Accords of life and death.
| A Woman's Reliquary | |