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(9 March 1888 – 17 October 1956 / Rangoon, Burma)

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The Poet

I take what never can be taken,
Touch what cannot be;
I wake what never could awaken,
But for me.

I go where only winds are going,
Kiss what fades away;
I know a thing too strange for knowing,
I, the clay.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: kiss, wind

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Comments about this poem (The Poet by Haniel Long )

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  • Maya Hanson (4/5/2014 2:56:00 PM)

    A beautiful expression, love it!

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  • Savita Tyagi (4/3/2014 6:07:00 PM)

    Very nice poem. Enjoyed it.

  • Nika Mcguin (4/3/2014 9:39:00 AM)

    a poem for metaphysical poets, lovely~

  • Babatunde Aremu (4/3/2014 4:20:00 AM)

    Nice poem about the Poet. I like it

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