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February 16, 2008
Poem: Irony by Roderic Quinn
All night a great wind blew across the land,
Come fresh from wild and salty seas,
With many voices loud and low
Appealing to the sympathies
Of those with whom long long ago
It had been friends, but who
Had lost the way to know and understand
Its weird and tearless woe.
A sleeper drawn from ancient fairies, stirred,
Breathed strangely in a deep unrest
As though his heart were choked with grief;
The moon down-stealing in the west
Threw every move of limb and leaf
Upon his blind. Now this
Was he the wind sought wildly -- had he heard --
Alas, the friend in need was deaf!
All time a great thought wandered round the world
Naked and bretahing loveliness,
Seeking in alien souls a home
But thwarted always, knocking no less
At every door, yet forced to roam
A wonder unexpressed;
A sense of strangeness as of wings unfurled
Hovered at times o'er some.
He heard the knocking at the inner door;
He saw her face a light intense
And stood amazed, irresolute.
"Now, thou who hast the poet-sense
In song serene and absolute
Proclaim my hidden worth."
He sobbed, she drooped her wings ... Woe evermore!
The chosen mind was mute.
First published in The Bulletin, 15 April 1899
Posted by larrikin at February 16, 2008 07:55 AM