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Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney


A Madonna of Domenico Ghirlandajo


LET thoughts go hence as from a mountain spring,
Of the great dust of battle clean and whole,
And the wild birds that have no nest nor goal
Fold in a young mans breast their trancèd wing;
For thou art made of purest Light, a thing
Art gave, beyond her own devout control;
And Light upon thy seeing, suffering soul
Hath wrought a sign for many journeying;
Our sign. As up a wayside, after rain,
When the blown beeches purple all the height
And clouds sink to the sea-marge, suddenly
The autumn sun (how soft, how solemn-bright!)
Moves to the vacant dial, so is lain
Gods meaning Hand, thou chosen, upon thee.



Louise Imogen Guiney


Louise Imogen Guiney's other poems:
  1. Ad Antiquarium
  2. Emily Brontë
  3. A Friends Song for Simoisius
  4. On the Same (continued)
  5. Martyrs Memorial


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