Sweet was the passion, and the vision sweet; Thought heralded out what one heart imbued. Sparse charges of insistence neglectfully gather Whatever willow leaves shiver in autumn waters.... 5 How all the unpulsed skeleton is left bereft! Now watching out the winter, to dazzle us in snow. Congruence is for loafers -- even saints have loafed!-- Lovingly gazing at God in that silver shower. We lived in the tyrrany of loving what we knew. 10 Briars on his hands, briars on his head! Now some terrible moment is coming to its bliss, Unconsummated hearts are burning, and the old Shatter into slivers of this THIS-- Everything unpreparedly is turning gold! 15 Somehow our own souls must know, prescient By their bliss, we are all that we pretend! God, Man, Beast, Himself has his rosy shadow lent, Sweet briars on my hands, briars on my head!
From the collection "Ascent"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.