Sing to me the sweeter end of sadness,
I have known it from a root Tearful ascend until the branches spread To cover two and happy Filter light and all the lovely things of Air by subtle indexing Venture there the pairing speckled entry To the realms of heaven high. Yet determined thus my sight is overgrown; Yields to petals, if believed! Blinds, or softens, vision bright -- Forget this illustration, There's a better thought arriving, Or implanted, merely held, Merely touching, you would have it, Might the fruit of fitness find. Though in fact it offered itself From the very first display. Though in fact is better than to Dwell alone imagined. Returned as fast to these fitful Branches hanging, maybe then Hindered since to leave the eyes for Works inspired of a loss Removed by course, by tract of time. Sing again what sadness leaves, Strange accommodation of the mind, Resting, if not falling, if Not the hope arresting, framing New and newly baring blue Addendums to the grayish sheet -- O, I see this now in gold, All in gold, and I might see this yet! By rest, by green, by grown, beset. This is the second poem on our blog written by fourth-year TAUG student Ian.
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April 2024
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