Posts tagged ‘though words are littered to my hand’

Tuesday, 30 March 2021

Mood by Grace Fallow Norton

Though words are littered to my hand
nothing they build can house my need.
Though words, a masked bedizened band,
surround me, mock—assail—evade—

though words come flowing from afar
having from ancient hills their red
and from this sky their cloud, their star,
still thirsty, mute, I bow my head.

For I am caught here needing speech,
sick with a lovely song unsung.
Waves broken on a desolate beach,
O not your strange confusing tongue

but rather the enchanted beat,
the deep eternal surge and sway—
silence, then running rapturous feet—
comes nearer what my heart would say.

From: Norton, Grace Follow, “Mood” in Poetry, Volume 50, Issue 3, June 1937, p. 133.

Date: 1937

By: Grace Fallow Norton (1876-1962)