From Hack Manhattan Wiki
"Ode of a Romantic Poem" (1991)
Thou still intriguing son of puzzlement, Thou bewildering, baffling, vague notion, Thou perpetual perplexion, that sent As Janun messenger of emotion, As Mercury of flying feeling felt, Who canst for one provide a potion Of sentiment: what story, tale, is dealt With by thee, work of verse, of genesis Or son of Ghengis, or of artists' belt, In Eden or the bed of Alpheus? What sacred river? What woman's wailing? What pleasure dome? What streams are sinuous? Wild story which art saying everything, Violence and peace both, preserved; sing, O sing!
Composed stanzas do please, but those unwrote Are pleasure more; so lyre `companied by, Continue your song, ye work of po't; Not to the hearing ears or scanning eye, To instead beloved more center of soul, Self inside, letting imaginings fly: Damsel, with thy dulcimer, and thy coal color, canst end thy song not, nor ever Can pleasure dome, caves of ice, e'er fall To final closing night of death, never Canst ancestors end thine prophesying, Nor canst dome become thy own sepulcher Forever thy rocks wilt be rebounding Like hail, and dome be sunny; sing, O sing!
Ah, sacred, sacred river! that ne'er can End mazy meanderings, that cannot Bid farewell momently mighty fountain; And singing Abyssinian, unforgot As vision envisioned, still singing songs With stringed symphony, a thought of a thought; More forceful song! more forceful, forceful song! Forever motive and still be felt, Forever turmoil seething through all long Length of time; all as breathing emotive melt Of human feeling high, satiating To excess, ecstasy and sorrow felt In voice that cries: Beware! Beware! growing Suddenly gray with fear, with dread; O sing!
Who is this wailing for her demon love? To what black temple, O paganist priest, Leadst thou that heifer of above, In garland dress, to what cavern of beast, Both size and depth as measureless? What milk Is drunk? What honeydew ate? In East Or before tribes of twelve? What Isaac's ilk Settlement by bank to west, or airy built Stately palace of dynasty of silk, Is driven empty of its folk, by gilt Of his eyes, by waving hair, this morning? And sizeless palace, forever more at hilt Of emptiness and silence, none to bring Light to the world, to meaning, silence weighing.
O Britannic form! Fair posture! with rhyme Of mingled measure and meditative Meandering, with force in e'ry line; Thou empathic verse, dreadful and plaintive, Dost make importunities of us As does life, that great Darwinian sieve! When generation has become callous With state of ending aging, thou shalt stay In new era, after our current fuss, And profound message to our children say: "Feeling makes art, all of art is feeling"-- That is all ye need know today or morrow day. The trumpet seven sound, to ending bring, And just beyond? Angelic singers? Sing!