14

Lo, even as I passed beside the booth

Of roses, and beheld them brightly twine

To damask heights, taking them as a sign

Of my own self still unconcerned with truth;

Even as I held up in hands uncouth

And drained with joy the golden-bodied wine,

Deeming it half-unworthy, half divine,

From out the sweet-rimmed goblet of my youth.

Even in that pure hour I heard the tone

Of grievous music stir in memory,

Telling me of the time already flown

From my first youth. It sounded like the rise

Of distant echo from dead melody,

Soft as a song heard far in Paradise.

The above is, of course, a sonnet. From one of my favorite poets, Wallace Stevens, who just called it "Sonnet." I guess he didn't write that many that he wanted to share with the world. But this one is worth sharing. He did an excellent job crafting something that has the elegance of formal poetry but still has the feel of conversational speech. On, of course, a change of perspective and of philosophy.