There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie.
O cruel cloudless space, And pale bare ground where the poor infant lies! Why do we feel restored As in a sacramental place? Here Mystery is artifice, And here a vision of such peace is stored, Healing flows from it through our eyes.
I feel often very close to the ecstasy and anguish which lie at the very heart of poetry - I am writing a lot.
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