Before it fades I’d capture it
and have it safely stored away
where petal-life could not decay
nor time itself might rupture it,
this scarcely breathing plant, this day,
this note in all things animate,
before it fades I’d summon it
to live on where eternals stay.
Freebooting minds may bludgeon it
and kick it out of court; for they
see nothing in it. Yes, I’d say,
it’s true that I imagine it,
for what mind has another way
to pick up something delicate?
By using facts to tackle it
I’d scratch it, scar it, go astray.
Because it sings I’ll answer it.
This heaven and glittering-winged display,
the name of love, I’d not betray
its true report, not censor it,
but like a dance I’d watch it play
about my words. The accurate
music of art will carry it . . .
because it sings, perhaps this may.