27 April 2010

Louis MacNeice

A tiny and unrepresentative extract from the end of 1953 which nonetheless speaks to me of something nearer:

... To discern
The future is not easy since those fires
That warm us are the selfsame fires that burn

Our guts, and since the wood of our desires
Consists of single yet entangled trees
Which maybe form a wood the world requires

But yet a wood which none distinctly sees
Or fully finds his way in.  This being true,
I wait unmoving by degrees

Towards home where waits one person which is you
Who takes the ancient view that life is holy.


1 comment:

JARay said...

A lovely poem Ttony.