Through the bound cable strands,the arching path
Upward,veering with light, the flight of strings,-
Taut miles of shuttling moonlight syncopate
The whispered rush,telepathy of wires.
Up the index of night,granite and steel-
Transparent meshes-fleckless the gleaming staves-
Sybilline voices flicker ,waveringly stream
As though a god were issue of the strings..
The Bridge, Hart Crane
No comments:
Post a Comment