There’s one that I once loved so much
I am no more the same.
I give thanks for that transforming touch.
I tell you not his name.
He has become a sign to me
For flowers and for fire.
For song he is a sign to me
And for the broken lyre.
And I have known him in a book
And never touched his hand.
And he is dead—I need not took
For him through his green land.
Heaven may not be. I have no faith,
But this desire I have—
To take my soul on my last breath,
To lift it like a wave,
And surge unto his star and say,
His friendship had been heaven;
And pray, for clouds that closed his day
May light at last be given!
And say, he shone at noon so bright
I learned to run and rejoice!
And beg him for one last delight—
The true sound of his voice.
There’s one that once moved me so much
I am no more the same;
And I pray I too, I too, may touch
Some heart with singing flame.
By Grace Fallow Norton from The New Poetry, An Anthology 1917 Ed. by Harriet Monroe
HT: Elizabeth M