The Poets
What hunger theirs who go graveeyed to meet Through classic courts of flame the risen sun; Who seek the wilderness and name it sweet. And supplicate where tides primeval runl They stare beyond the shadows and they see. Not moons, hut fighters, scarred by morning's blade. Far flutes re-echo rose-red ecstasy; But for their hearing haunted speech is made. While blind and tranquil men are wrapped in sleep. These at the midnight windows lean intense, To feel the earth breathe metrical and deep; Translate old stars in manuscripts immense. All sorrow holds a secret Wealth for them; All happiness is pierced by tempered spears; No sin/ of yesterday may they condemn, Who read it mirrored in approaching years. They are the fools who flaunt no Worldly crest; Of neither gold nor purple Is their mail. They climb the mount alone, their sign unrest, And with brief-storied anquish win the Grail. —Paula Hanger.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19380723.2.218.34.2
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23097, 23 July 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)
Word Count
154The Poets New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23097, 23 July 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)
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