POETRY.
EROS.
BENEATH a fitather Asian sky, I leapt to birth.
No star, that bows her body over earth, Ever more reft than I.
None hearkened my birth cry, For Nothing gave me birth.
Through air's wide pools I came.
I had no light, nor flame To go before me, only distantly
I knew the shape and voice of things to be.
Within the desert circle of the sky, In the void's drouth, Was loosened a bird's mouth, Shadow of song and echo shadowy.
The flesh of grass and flowers, The sweet of unknown hours, All, all I knew—strong pains And undiscovered pleasure shown to me, The wing and voice of bird, Their voices that I heard In forest hollows cool with summer rains.
Such radiance I had made of bird and leaf ; Then I knew sorrow suddenly, keen grief ; In loathing drove my children forth from me, Turned to the barren furrows of the sea.
PETER QUENNELL.
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