for 1. 1. 2019
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The light in the window seemed perpetual
When you stayed in the high room for me;
It glowed above the trees through leaves
Like my certainty.
The light is fallen and you are hidden
In sunbright peninsulas of the sword:
Torn like leaves through Europe is the peace
That through us flowed.
Now I climb up alone to the high room
Above the darkened square
Where among stones and roots, the other
Peaceful lovers are.
– Stephen Spender (1909-1995), New Collected Poems
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How is such a mystery to be explained. None of the details fit your circumstances, nor does the story to which they belong, yet the poem could not be better suited to your state.
There are bonuses. It softens the world’s unyielding — adamantine — edges, and reminds you of its magnificence. Rare as this is for blank verse, it plays in your inner ear as a melody.
H A P P Y N E W Y E A R
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post-Gutenberg 