Sonnet 47 Poem by Barry Middleton

I wish to find the farthest bloom
that by the seed of rivers rests.
And there in delicate embrace
a rare perfume will be my grace.

Into the mystic glen unguided,
up from the dark and sullen swamp,
I find a garden walled and sided,
the secret keep of mystery's warden.

A light, an ecstasy of breath
beguiles the dream with sweetest scent.
The passion is a christening,
a foil against life's ample torment.

Imagined bloom and far from view,
I seek, but those who find are few.