Poems that you love

[ellajam]

Pysche Revised

She could not love him till she saw him clear:
that much she thought she knew. A troubled light
gossiped in whispers from her lifted lamp;
she neared the bed he slept in, not in fear
so much as in resigned need for full sight
of him, such as he might be. He lay damp
and heavy, as if travels through the night
were more than even gods could bear; a cramp
stirred like regret accross his breast, his face
sealed in momentary grasp of bright
visions destined to fail by day. how near
he was, perfected by imperfect grace!
She quenched the lamp, and radiance washed the place.
She could not see him till she held him dear.

Rhina P. Espaillat

Interesting poem, it makes me start from the top again and again, thanks for posting it.