I do not attach much importance to the publication or non publication of my poetry and never have done. Most of it (the published part) appeared five, ten, fifteen or even thirty or more years after they were written. The few recently published in magazines (not all of them new, e.g. the sonnets) owed their fate to Nolini's eagerness and not to my initiative. But the vast bulk of what I have written (long poems mostly) lies on shelf and in drawer, most of it for more than a decade, awaiting either dissolution or an interminable revision or total recasting which at the present rate may well retain them there a decade or two more. But that is my own idiosyncrasy—it cannot be a rule or example for others.
Who art thou that camest Bearing the occult Name, Wings of regal darkness, Eyes of an unborn flame?
Like the august uprising Of a forgotten sun Out of the caverned midnight Fire-trails of wonder run.
Captured the heart renouncing Tautness of passion-worn strings Allows the wide-wayed sweetness Of free supernal things.
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