The Sylvan Wye called to me few short years ago
And here I sit in Tintern’s walls,
Watching wind-rippled grass.
She called me here; here I sit, obedient pilgrim of deeper life
For since I first felt soul’s answer to beckoning Welsh breeze,
I could not rest ,urged forward path by path
Those beauteous words
In each stretching silence, have not given to me
As is poetry to a deaf man’s ear:
But frequent in darkening twilight, and in the dark
Of soul and conscience, I have read from them
In days of anguish, spiritual songs,
Heard in the soul, and sung in deeper core,
And sounding even into deepest heart,
In quiet healing.
By the swell of that pure love, this abbey’s carpet
dances daisies into once floors of stone
I had given my soul to the green hues when I heard of her,
The supreme and Godly nature.
Learned slowly the paths she and he in duet make for me
Lead to much brighter fields than natural eye chooses
The only lasting lives within these falling walls are doves
Nesting in forgotten corners, cooing stone into silence,
Outliving even the daisy’s presence there.
~DaLe 5.29.09
