Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
this morning i was googling for a poem from one of my favorite poets. i had discovered her work about two years ago at random. and just moments ago, staring at blue letters in a list of search results i learned that she died in 2003. but that first poem by her that i read said "Kathleen Raine (b. 1908). British". a twinge of sadness passed through me. it was then followed by the realization of the beauty in the form of her writings that she left behind. i remember how i printed out the first poem i had discovered by her. it was called "envoi." it was beautiful.
all thins change. in the fleeting moment when there is beauty it must be grasped with the heart. it must be grasped in its entirety, not just the pretty but the source and the non-beauty that enables that gives us the contrast.