Our history is noble and tragic
Like a tyrant’s glaring mask
No hazard nor magical drama
No trivial detail
Makes pathos of our love
Opium possessed de Quincey
Chaste poison drunk to Anne
He dreamed his life away
On on since all must past
I’ll frequently turn back
Memories are hunting horns
Whose sound dies out along with the wind
Poetry 365
Inspired by Billy Collins' Poetry 180 project, I post one poem per day here, for at least a year. | tags by author or subject | contact me here
Tagged
french
Minerva stepped out calmly from my head
And I will be forever crowned with blood
There is reason within and sky above my skull
Where Goddess you were buckling on your arms
Of my misfortunes this is not the worst
This almost mortal wound became a star
The secret sorrow which is my despair
Is more than any other soul could hide
I bear with me a suffering of fire
Just as a glow-worm bears his body’s flame
As in a soldier’s heart France is on fire
Just as rich pollen fills the lily’s heart
