“. . . one . . . with a writer’s inkhorn by his side . . .” —Ezekiel 9:2
When I think of late a veil has passed from where I had not thought —
to block the discourse and the idle glances me to thee
and thee to me — by only knowledge of what I thought known,
I wonder if ever a lighter veil will replace this grey.
Doleful strains, larghetto and taut, come bind my thoughts.
I find not free my mind’s to tread about the light,
and where it may tread the dark, I listen rather than think.
Bound or nay, an mind were mine, ’twould think on thee.
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