05-07-2014, 03:37 PM
I haven't read all the posts in this series. I intend to, but I am going to do it slowly -- there are so many lovely poems in here. If the poem I am posting below has already been posted, I will substitute something else.
May Sarton was a free-verse poet, but the one time she wrote a poem in form, it turned out to be one of the loveliest poems ever written (in my view). One wonders why she didn't write in form more:
A Handful of Thyme
"What are you doing
Now the end is not far?
Remembering? Ruing?"
"No rue, my dear."
"Are you still seeding?"
"Now and then I do."
"You are frail for weeding,
And the weeds grow."
"Yes, the weeds flourish.
Too brief the hours
When I can still nourish
Poems or flowers."
"The muses have died?"
"Not died. I must be
My own muse beside
My own mystery.
And the memories move
Without warning to break
Happiness, even love
For poetry’s sake."
"But what will you keep
When you can’t even rhyme?"
"Sleep, my dear, sleep
And a handful of thyme."
May Sarton
May Sarton was a free-verse poet, but the one time she wrote a poem in form, it turned out to be one of the loveliest poems ever written (in my view). One wonders why she didn't write in form more:
A Handful of Thyme
"What are you doing
Now the end is not far?
Remembering? Ruing?"
"No rue, my dear."
"Are you still seeding?"
"Now and then I do."
"You are frail for weeding,
And the weeds grow."
"Yes, the weeds flourish.
Too brief the hours
When I can still nourish
Poems or flowers."
"The muses have died?"
"Not died. I must be
My own muse beside
My own mystery.
And the memories move
Without warning to break
Happiness, even love
For poetry’s sake."
"But what will you keep
When you can’t even rhyme?"
"Sleep, my dear, sleep
And a handful of thyme."
May Sarton