Norskie Yearning: Year 2


Year 3

 

 

'up whispers'

The robin, in his turn to listen

Spied above with blur and glisten

A shape with crimson flashes flying

settle in the arch of a sky-round dome

 

this robin to that black bird queried

why hang you from the bending reeds?

as if  to see yourself imagined

hard grasp'd to the side of cliffs and fall

with imminent expanse below

 

and hanging so say why you sing?

with fright an image it must bring.

 

So returned to the robin at once the black bird rose:

 

i perch upon the tallest stalks

not for fear or dread inducing

but because my crying's flight

should earn it's time to fall

 

and spread upon the ground and grasses

and water through the rippled masses

and dance wherein the bob of branches

rustle their flecks about the kaleidoscope floor

 

so when the lines of dawn draw mist in water’s go

and our number'd ponderings are a blanket’d haze of know

I perch above the quilt of wandering souls

and watch the waddling fowl and circles unfold

 

but perch's sight is aside my goal

 

i perch so singing

my song's enrolled

to cast about for an ear in the fold

who’s listen, i struggle, and i do not know

 

though i know these ears for hearing be

i feel them in my time alone

and weep warm tears

though i know my knowing knows no reason'd way

where crest a cliff beyond all imaged leap

the legs of the mind are grand, and paltry

 

but for all my singing's cry

a lump of black near my seat and akin

flickers there and always near

whereby my arrows fly

 

as if behind my great dreams eye

i fear upon my love's ear's hearing

my song should like the sun bright shinning

obscure the languid waters of scented morning’s lull

and wrap my stationary sojourn

in the sound of a trickling fall