To Conway Power Baroness Of Greenfield - Poem by Isabelle Cooper
Reason, passion, the sighting eye
The hand that launched to kill
Or perhaps worse, and not recall
Does the arrow remember these
As it flies to mark?
But on careful thought
It cannot forget, its mode of memory
Faultless, structured in being
Complete in action, sure to hit
So tis true with the words we write:
Do follow a distant power primeval
Unconscious from some past unknown
In them some essence, not theirs
Some far bowman sighting, some arm lifted
Some mark sped to drifted ages since
Now all thrumming within
Their flying perfect, their strike certain
As we travel this enchanting place
Are not we both bowman
And arrow in this space?
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