In Lantern Light

I could not paint, nor could I draw
The look that searched the night;
The bleak refinement of the face I saw
In lantern light.

A cunning hand might seize the crag,
Or stay the flight of a gull,
Or the rocket's flash; or more — the lightning jag
That lit the hull.

But as a man born blind must steal
His colours from the night
By hand, I had to touch that face to feel
It marble white.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.