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Nor they who stand
On Abrigada's roof,
(Red-tiled, aloof),
Who climb as I climb now,
Withdrawn from reach of hand,
From call of crowd,
Looking down on distance, dune and bough,
And looking up on distance, cloud and cloud.
On Abrigada's roof,
(Red-tiled, aloof),
Who climb as I climb now,
Withdrawn from reach of hand,
From call of crowd,
Looking down on distance, dune and bough,
And looking up on distance, cloud and cloud.
Only not looking back!
For it is well finally to forget
The thirst, the much-lipped cup,
The plethora, the piteous lack,
The broken things, the stains, the scars—
For it is well finally to forget
The thirst, the much-lipped cup,
The plethora, the piteous lack,
The broken things, the stains, the scars—
Well to look up and up:
To dream undaunted dreams aloud
And stumble toward the stars!
***
This be in praise
Of Abrigada,
In all the ways
That come to me
Through the mild midsummer days.
To dream undaunted dreams aloud
And stumble toward the stars!
***
This be in praise
Of Abrigada,
In all the ways
That come to me
Through the mild midsummer days.
In speech;
In rhyme and rhythm of written word—
Name it a poem, maybe!
In rhyme and rhythm of written word—
Name it a poem, maybe!
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