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Harold Hart Crane (21 July 1899 – 27 April 1932 / Garrettsville, Ohio)
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Poems by Harold Hart Crane : 6 / 37
Exile
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.
Harold Hart Crane
Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004
Read poems about / on: farewell, laughter, alone, night, heart, love
Poems by Harold Hart Crane : 6 / 37
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That secound stanza is so raw with passion it could make stone pulse with life. This man is yearning in his own prison and all he seeks is the one who confounded him there, havent we all been there.
Unusually delicate for a man and for that reason (to me) makes this express his adoration even more than normal.
The title just marries this write wonderfully (exile) speaks volumes of Harolds solitude. I think the reason i appreciate this so much is he uses slightly unusual terms as opposed to the expected (my love and darling) writes....truly a rare little gem