A man whose wounds were healed, perhaps,
Grew restive as the seasons lapsed;
Faltering footsteps, one by one,
Led him to snowy Lebanon.
Ah, Lebanon! 'twas like the scream
Torn from the throat of Philomel
By every hand of every king,
Every voter in the world;
It was like the endless dreams
Of one in agony: she sings
Still, in the redolent wood
Where Lebanon was forced.
October,1986
Praise for your elegant, expressive poem. There is a pervasive sadnees here that is very appealing to the reader. Kindest regards, Sandra
Will...Well placed imagery and smooth flowing verses make this work polished as a new Ferrari! Nice Work''''''''''''''''''''''fjr
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Will, A E H would have shaved himself in a state of high glee if he had cut this. It's high grade precious stonework raised to the dizzying heights of Coleridgean 'wanton poesy'. In fact, I've no doubt that STC would have been proud of this - it has the majestic flow, mystery and mythic quality of Kubla Khan. It has polished magic in it. It has a dreamlike edge to it. You've melded and wended with abandon in this. Ingenious. jim