Monday, February 12, 2018

A poem I found in my blog

TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE
by: James Elroy Flecker
     I WHO am dead a thousand years,
    And wrote this sweet archaic song,
    Send you my words for messengers
    The way I shall not pass along.
     
    I care not if you bridge the seas,
    Or ride secure the cruel sky,
    Or build consummate palaces
    Of metal or of masonry.
     
    But have you wine and music still,
    And statues and a bright-eyed love,
    And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
    And prayers to them who sit above?
     
    How shall we conquer? Like a wind
    That falls at eve our fancies blow,
    And old Mæonides the blind
    Said it three thousand years ago.
     
    O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
    Student of our sweet English tongue,
    Read out my words at night, alone:
    I was a poet, I was young.
     
    Since I can never see your face,
    And never shake you by the hand,
    I send my soul through time and space
    To greet you. You will understand.

'To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence' is reprinted from An Anthology of Modern Verse. Ed. A. Methuen. London: Methuen & Co., 1921.

Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/f/to_a_poet_a_thousand_years_hence.html#YEfWpEI6Y2gAX0xu.99

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