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Against too many writers of science fiction
Why did you lure us on like this,
Light-year on light-year, through the abyss,
Building (as though we cared for size!)
Empires that cover galaxies
If at the journey's end we find
The same old stuff we left behind,
Well-worn Tellurian stories of
Crooks, spies, conspirators, or love,
Whose setting might as well have been
The Bronx, Montmartre, or Bedinal Green?
Why should I leave this green-floored cell,
Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell,
Unless, outside its guarded gates,
Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits
Strangeness that moves us more than fear,
Beauty that stabs with tingling spear,
Or Wonder, laying on one's heart
That finger-tip at which we start
As if some thought too swift and shy
For reason's grasp had just gone by?
Clive Staples Lewis
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Read poems about / on: journey, green, beauty, fear, light, heart
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Comments about this poem (An Expostulation
by
Clive Staples Lewis
) |
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comments about this poem (An Expostulation by
Clive Staples Lewis
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Marie Bliss
(12/9/2007 6:07:00 AM) |
I wish to join you on the green floored cell, roofed with blue air, and refuse any less.
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