A Clear Midnight, by Walt Whitman
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the
themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
A rather spare poem for Whitman, but one beautiful in its simplicity.
A chilly, gloomy start to the Lunar New Year, I’m hoping everyone doing lion dances and all are wearing silk thermals beneath their costumes! The ceremonies here in Glasgow are all safely INDOORS. Brrr. More heart-warming if not body-warming poetry can be found with my bud Gina at AmoXcalli.