Poem: The Ghost by Furnley Maurice

| No TrackBacks
Gird you no more at poets. They have sought
   To utter the unutterable joy.
The gesture breaks the dream; acts ruin thought,
   Whose color is debased with gross alloy.

A leaping horse, a sea-pool clear and cold,
   Night or her stars -- these have not found a name.
The rose is barbarous yet: and who has told
   The frightful grandeur of a leaping flame?

Men have grown used to glory, let it pass
   Im powerless lassitude -- vain, oh, so vain!
Are swept with glory as the wind the grass,
   Drink and are silent as the rose the rain.

But poets, being fools, are not content:
   They will name mysteries and utter most
Unutterable things; their blood is spent
   In Beauty 's woundings -- Beauty that's a ghost.

First published in The Bulletin, 7 December 1929

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL: http://www.middlemiss.org/cgi-bin/movabletype/mt-tb.cgi/1234

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on September 10, 2011 8:16 AM.

Reprint: Furnley Maurice: An Interview with a Poet by "Polygon" was the previous entry in this blog.

2011 Queensland Premier's Literary Awards Winners is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Monthly Archives

Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en