To Shuman Heink
Too near the heart, the lullaby, too near,
the strains of it trolls one melting,
twisting strains; you should not sing
the song for us to hear,
for pains it soothes away
bring sadder pains.
The pulse of sorrow vibrates all alone,
and when the grandeur of the voice
that's gone
reflects an instant in the shaking tone,
when sudden memories to light are drawn.
You love has been so great,
your life so long, that feeling in your
voice is like a dart, and when you
think far back and sing the song,
you stab too near the heart,
too near the heart.
William Stafford
Posted over on William Stafford Broadsides
1 comment:
Just fyi, there's a typo in the first stanza. "The strains it trolls are melting, twisting strains." Should read.
Great collection of poetry, right down my alley.
msclement.wordpress.com
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