Oakhill

Life is not three dimensional, nor four,

But five.  We do not just exist in space

And time, but have an extra quality

Compounded of strange scents that on us pour

Quite unrelated to our mood or place,

But from the flower-beds of memory

Drifting upon the senses with a lore

Found not in books, and leaving little trace

Save a blood-stirring sense of history ;

As one may glimpse through a part opened door

From a dark room a grove in brilliant light,

So can I see beyond this place and now

That what was I, is I, till death endow

My comprehension with more perfect sight.

 

Mona’s Herald     2.5.61