Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

In Which We Burn

burning-time

Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day
Delmore Schwartz

What will become of you and me
Besides the photo and the memory? …
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.

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May 4, 2014 - Posted by | Poems | , , , , , ,

1 Comment »

  1. Great last line!

    Comment by Kip | May 4, 2014 | Reply


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