There is a Glory
by
Eric Martin
There
is a glory I have
found
In lying on the
cool, damp ground
Beneath a tombstone's
evening shade,
Beneath a willow's
weeping boughs.
How like a moonlit
woodland glade
This churchyard
seems, where I
would rouse
From slumberous
death a lofty
thought
With which my
mind had long
been fraught.
Oh, silent beauty,
on the breast
Of sacred earth
in this dim glade!
Oh, peaceful spot,
my head to rest
Beneath this tombstone's
twilight shade!
When
I behold the yellow
leaves
Which tell of
autumn's coming
dawn,
My eyes are to
their splendor
drawn,
Although my heart
for summer grieves.
So also have I
learned to find
Much beauty in
the grim disguise
Of death and dying
hopes —
a kind
Of rapture in
the harshest eyes
Of failure, or
forlorn surprise.
Thus I've attuned
my soul to sense
The curious thrill
of tragedy,
Having belied
the inference
That sorrow must
be misery.
©
2008 by
Eric Martin
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About the Author
Eric
Martin's
poems and translations
have appeared
in nearly fifty
print and online
journals throughout
the United States,
Canada and Great
Britain, including
The Barefoot Muse,
Calenture, Centrifugal
Eye, Contemporary
Rhyme, Lucid Rhythms,
The Road Not Taken,
Trellis Magazine,
and forthcoming
(May 2008) in
the Concelebratory
Shoehorn Review.
A complimentary
copy of his chapbook,
The Death of Orpheus,
and Other Poems,
Original and Translated,
can be requested
at: emart40x@yahoo.com
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