Through greatness we devour what we render;
These are but rapacious tenants,
Waiting wolf-like to savour intimate moments,
Mere microseconds flowing through us
Dragging in the mire.
I held in that vacant transparency
Volumes that came and went,
Departed in their dexterity
No less than gnashing teeth or a
Tram passing through my hands.
I hastened calmly through that country,
Paused by the flames,
Of an insouciant creation.
These were the tricks I could play,
And were played on me;
If I took the path
It was only one,
Its terms laid down,
Like golden tresses,
Its aisles speckled by long drawn images,
The leading lamps, leading
To coiled gaspness.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The Measure by Jay Alexander )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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