Under an Oak Tree

Only an imperfect picture
Gives the sense of simpler symbols
A gallery of sculpture, and
of oil and ease.
The rudest draughts of a few
streams of tendency that educate
perceptions of an eye and heart:
Presently, we pass

A poem, or a romance
Under an oak tree-
it never quite repeats itself
It Never Quite Repeats Itself

It fills the eye-not less
Until we fire all the best
the world should give suggestion of
my ear and heart.
A sky full of eternal eyes
but always flowing, capped and based
by Heaven, Earth, and sea:
the stream of tendency, it paints a tune.

The aspiring portrait of fate within
exclude this element,
the indifferency in which
all the passions concentrate
on just this moment.

Oct. '05