The Wings

A wondrous holiness hath touched me
And I have felt the whirring of its wings
Above me, Lifting me above all terrene things
As her fingers fluttered into mine
Its wings whirring above me as it passed
I know no thing therelike, lest it be
A lapping wind among the pines
Half shadowed of a hidden moon and kisseth not
But whirreth, soft as light
Of twilit streams in hidden ways
This is base hereto and unhallowed …
Her fingers layed on mine in fluttered benediction
And above the whirring of all-holy wings.



Nice.

I know not whether it is reverent or blasphemous, nor do I know the state of Pound’s fragile sanity at the time of its composition.

But nice, regardless.