“Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding, / Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side”

[larryhammer]

For Poetry Monday … guess who?


“Now that the west is washed of clouds and clear,” Edna St. V. Millay

Now that the west is washed of clouds and clear,
The sun gone under his beams laid by,
You, that require a quarter of the sky
To shine alone in: prick the dusk, appear,
Beautiful Venus! The dense atmosphere
Cannot diffuse your rays, you blaze so high,
Lighting with loveliness a crisp and dry
Cold evening in the autumn of the year.
The pilot standing by his broken plane
In the unheard-of mountains, looks on you,
And warms his heart a moment at your light ...
Benignant planet, sweet, familiar sight ...
Thinking he may be found, he may again
See home, breaks the stale, buttered crust in two.


---L.

Subject quote from Often rebuked, yet always back returning, Emily Bronte.