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You are watching: Dark is a way and light is a place

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See more: Literary Analysis Of The Point Of View Of The Lottery By Shirley Jackson

In the mustardseed sun,By complete tilt river and switchearlier sea Wright here the cormorants scud,In his home on stilts high among beaks And palavers of birdsThis sandgrain day in the bent bay"s grave He celebrates and spurnsHis driftlumber thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear. Under and also round him goFlounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails, Doing what they are told,Curlews aloud in the congered waves Work at their methods to fatality,And the rhymer in the long tongued room, Who tolls his birthday bell,Toils towards the ambush of his wounds; Herons, steeple stemmed, bmuch less. In the thistledvery own fall,He sings towards anguish; finches fly In the claw tracks of hawksOn a seizing sky; small fishes glide Thunstable wynds and also shells of drownedShip towns to pastures of otters. He In his slant, racking houseAnd the hewn coils of his profession perceives Herons walk in their shroud, The livelong river"s robeOf minnows wreapoint around their prayer; And far at sea he knows,Who slaves to his crouched, eternal finish Under a serpent cloud,Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust, The rippled seals streak downTo kill and also their own tide daubing blood Slides excellent in the sleek mouth. In a cavernous, swungWave"s silence, wept white angelus knells. Thirty-5 bells sing struckOn skull and sautomobile wright here his loves lie wrecked, Steered by the falling stars.And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage Terror will rage apartBefore chains break to a hammer flame And love unbolts the dark And easily he goes lostIn the unknown, famous light of excellent And fabulous, dear God.Dark is a method and light is a area, Heaven that never wasNor will be ever before is constantly true, And, in that brambled void,Plenty as blackberries in the woods The dead thrive for His joy. Tright here he can wander bareWith the spirits of the horseshoe bay Or the stars" seashore dead,Marrowhead of eagles, the roots of whales And wishbones of wild geese,With blessed, unborn God and His Ghold, And eextremely soul His priest,Gulled and also chanter in young Heaven"s fold Be at cloud quaking tranquility, But dark is a lengthy way.He, on the earth of the night, alone With all the living, prays,Who knows the rocketing wind will blow The bones out of the hills,And the scythed boulders bleed, and also the last Rage shattered waters kickMasts and also fishes to the still quick starts, Faithlessly unto Him Who is the light of oldAnd air shaped Heaven where souls thrive wild As steeds in the foam:Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined And druid herons" vowsThe voyage to destroy I have to run, Dawn ships clouted aground,Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue, Count my blessings aloud: Four elements and also fiveSenses, and man a heart in love Tangling through this spun slimeTo his nimbus bell cool kingdom come And the lost, moonshine domes,And the sea that hides his trick selves Deep in its black, base bones,Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh, And this last blessing a lot of, That the closer I moveTo death, one male via his sundered hulks, The louder the sun bloomsAnd the tusked, ramshackling sea exults; And eextremely wave of the wayAnd gale I tackle, the whole civilization then, With even more triumphant faithThat ever was because the world was sassist, Spins its morning of praise, I hear the bouncing hillsGrow larked and also greener at berry brvery own Fall and the dew larks singTaller this thunderclap spring, and also how More extended with angles rideThe mansouled fiery islands! Oh, Holier then their eyes,And my shining males no more alone As I sail out to die.