Poem
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life:
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us - to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life:
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us - to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
Labels: poetry
posted by Mark D. Smith | 11:12 AM
2 Comments:
T.S. Elliot is credited with saying, "Mediocre poets imitate; good poets steal."
I guess that makes me a good poet.
(the poem is Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life")
oh, Mark, i was gonna say... you've got some hidden talent. Thanks for sharing
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