A Forecast Poem by Archibald Lampman

A Forecast

Rating: 2.8


What days await this woman, whose strange feet
Breathe spells, whose presence makes men dream like wine,
Tall, free and slender as the forest pine,
Whose form is moulded music, through whose sweet
Frank eyes I feel the very heart's least beat,
Keen, passionate, full of dreams and fire:
How in the end, and to what man's desire
Shall all this yield, whose lips shall these lips meet?

One thing I know: if he be great and pure,
This love, this fire, this beauty shall endure;
Triumph and hope shall lead him by the palm:
But if not this, some differing thing he be,
That dream shall break in terror; he shall see
The whirlwind ripen, where he sowed the calm.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Fabrizio Frosini 22 February 2016

''whose presence makes men dream like wine'' ''la cui presenza fa sognare gli uomini come il vino'' .. quite strange, indeed.. it's a woman that makes a man dreaming a whole universe of beautiful things.. not wine ;)

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