Sunday, August 24, 2014
Sunday Poetry - Feodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
Seated there upon the floor,
She picked through each familiar letter,
and like gray ash that glows no more
She took them up and let them scatter.
Then, taking up each page afresh,
So strangely did she look upon them
As souls freed from the cage of flesh
Might then look down on what had borne them...
How much of life they held enshrined,
events beyond recall amassed there!
So many moments brought to mind
Of love and grief, joy and disaster!
I stood in silence by the door,
Prepared to kneel in adoration;
Great sadness moved me to the core
Like some sweet spectral visitation.