On My Thirty-Third Year

A poem inspired by Milton’s ‘On His Blindness’

23 April 2015

WHEN I look at Time departed and now,
And that promise which lighted my childhood,
Still fading and deserting me somehow,
I see the mark of that which has long stood.
My luck is gone, and my hope is all spent,
My greater talents be yet unfulfilled,
And the genius seems conquered at present,
Yet there be no opening to rebuild.
I still have time before my adult year,
And still this one Talent left to decide
As I behold this manhood that I fear,
Which comes to me wholly prepared and wide,
Or perhaps my verse should rekindle my stay,
To once more lead and see my brighter day.



Once In The Woods

WHEN your lips were damp like mine in the fields,
When the earth smiled in purples and goodly greens,
When apples and plums, graced the age of light,
When mighty waters filled the river-bank,
When crickets and ‘hoppers babbled in the wind,
When humming-birds echoed from shore to shore.