I must return
To that valley of vision,
Gather again to me
Flocks, crescent moon and star;
God – let the last lights burn
At this down-dusking of heaven’s intermission,
Grant a rebirth to things I used to see
Seeming so close – yet known to be so far.
Long since I knocked
At the Interpreter’s door,
Explained whence I came
And what I hoped to find;
With kindred spirits flocked
To him, and asked of the path that lay before –
How to win valid praise ( avoiding shame )
We who were young – vigorous – yet so blind.
Now in tired age
Sharpening my needles
Rubbing herbs on my forehead
To wake my brains! –
Yet – if it evokes that sage
( farcical though it be ) – if it inveigles
My failing soul to final glimpse of Godhead
It is enough – recompense for all pains.
Cut image now
Wax hold my dream,
And let the acid bite
And show its power;
My hand is on the plough
Which cut deep furrows to hold the harvest’s sheen;
Tremblingly I vision this final light,
And place it high in the lonely tower.