J O N T H O M P S O N
__________________________________________________________TWO POEMS
VI
Knew they then how much to rue their principalities &
powers the vanity of it & when the snow finally blurred &
blanketed the ground what made they of all the votive
candles flickering in their yellowed auras of light? What
gods they worshipped. Every Idol had a secret face
& the highest of them the blankest of faces Glory, thou
Shine of Shining things made fine/To fill the Fancy peeping
through the Eyes god of chalice & spears I wanted to
note what it was like to be in that time when a merciless
spring stalked winter & in the riot of color whiteness
became purer graver a time when the whiteness on the
page rebuked every mark placed upon it
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