dragonyphoenix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonyphoenix) wrote2010-06-04 01:34 pm
dragonyphoenix) wrote2010-06-04 01:34 pm
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The Moor by R. S. Thomas
Found this on Poetry Chaikhana. It's too beautiful to keep to myself.
The Moor by R. S. Thomas
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions -- that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
The Moor by R. S. Thomas
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions -- that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.