Harold Hart Crane(21 July 1899 - 27 April 1932 / Garrettsville, Ohio)
- by Harold Hart Crane25
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, -- No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell', And with the day, distance again expands Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone. A dove's wings clung about my heart each night With surging gentleness, and the blue stone Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
- by Harold Hart Crane21
As silent as a mirror is believed Realities plunge in silence by . . .
I am not ready for repentance; Nor to match regrets. For the moth Bends no more than the still Imploring flame. And tremorous In the white falling flakes Kisses are,-- The only worth all granting.
It is to be learned-- This cleaving and this burning, But only by the one who Spends out himself again.
Twice and twice (Again the smoking souvenir, Bleeding eidolon!) and yet again. Until the bright logic is won Unwhispering as a mirror Is believed.
Then, drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry Shall string some constant harmony,-- Relentless caper for all those who step The legend of their youth into the noon.
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