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by Gregg Johnson
This poem has two parts, a summary poem, related to Poema Puellae, and a longer poem which I consider my best yet (considering it is only the fourth poem I have ever written, though, that isn't saying much). There are a number of problems with the second, longer poem (the source of the light is never clear... some of the metre is bad, etc.). Eventually I will get around to editing it and fixing those little details, at least the technical ones. Most of the difficulties at present would require major reworkings.
Light grows dim. The lake moonlight saves
In bright crests of swift-rolling waves.
Deep in the darkened wold, through glade
Illumed by the clear moon, astride
A great-horse, two companions ride.
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The road grew wan, the lake glew bright:
Two riders rode while fell the night
O'er all the land about. 'Neath tree
And over stone they wound, and free
Between them drifted words, laughter,
And a song, blent with nature' fair
Voice now made sweeter.
The road grew wan, the lake glew bright:
A glimmer through the trees, of light
Oft caught upon swift-rolling waves
Through waters that still yet make graves,
A glad cry answered as the pair,
Astride one horse, praised for the glare
The one Light finer.
The road grew cold, the light waxed old:
Up rose the pillared wold t'ward-right,
The path in went, in rode the twain.
The sky, with stars and clouds of rain,
A leafy canopy now hid,
As moon fell t'ward the hills unbid,
And all grew dimmer.
The road grew wan, the road went down:
Through glade illumed as clear stars shone,
Past gnarled oaks of ages lost,
Cold streams of melted mountain frost,
They followed still, and came near dawn
At last to home and dewy lawn
With gold ashimmer.
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