I would not venture to dispraise or praise.
Too well I know the indifference which bounds
A poet in the narrow working-grounds
Where he is blind and deaf in all his ways.
He must work out alone his path to glory;
A thousand breaths are fanning him along;
A thousand tears end in one little song,
A thousand conflicts in one little story;
A thousand notes swell to a single chord.
He cannot tell where his direction tends;
He strives unguided towards indefinite ends;
He is an ignorant though absolute lord.
To A Poet Whose Verses I Had Read
Victoria Mary Sackville-west
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Poem topics: alone, song, work, venture, single, narrow, story, blind, direction, ignorant, poet, absolute, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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