Norskie Yearning: Year 2
Year 3
'up whispers'
The robin, in his turn to listen
Spied above with blur and glisten
A shape with crimson flashes flying
settle in the arch of a sky-round dome
this robin to that black bird queried
why hang you from the bending reeds?
as if to see yourself imagined
hard grasp'd to the side of cliffs and fall
with imminent expanse below
and hanging so say why you sing?
with fright an image it must bring.
So returned the robin with once the black bird rose:
i perch upon the tallest stalks
not for fear or dread inducing
but because my crying's flight
should earn it's time to fall
and spread upon the ground and grasses
and water through the rippled masses
and dance wherein the bob of branches
rustle their flecks about the kaleidoscope door
so when the lines of dawn draw mist on water’s go
and our number'd ponderings are a blanket’d haze of know
I perch above the quilt of wandering souls
and watch the waddling fowl and circles unfold
but perch's sight is aside my goal
i perch so singing
my song's enrolled
to cast about for an ear in the fold
who’s listen, i struggle, and i do not know
though i know these ears for hearing be
i feel them in my time alone
and weep warm tears
though i know my knowing knows no reason'd way
where crest a cliff beyond all imaged leap
the legs of the mind are grand, and paltry
but for all my singing's cry
a lump of black near my seat and akin
flickers there and always near
whereby my arrows fly
as if behind my great dreams eye
i fear upon my love's ear's hearing
my song should like the sun bright shinning
obscure the languid waters of scented morning’s lull
and wrap my stationary sojourn
in the sound of a trickling fall