To the angel without wings:
‘Greetings; don’t let me keep you.’
To the winged one, making as if
to be up and gone: ‘Stay awhile.’
To the dark angel, pedlar
of reflections: ‘I am not at home.’
To the one sworn eternally
to silence: ‘Eavesdrop my heart.’
To truth’s angel: ‘In his ear about me
nothing but the white lie.’
by R. S. Thomas
from Mass for Hard Times (1992)
I come again with greetings new,
to tell you day is well begun;
to say the leaves are fresh with dew
and dappled in the early sun;
to tell you how the forest stirs
in every branch of every brake,
and what an April thirst is hers,
with every whistling bird awake;
to say, as yesterday, once more,
with love as passionate and true,
my heart is ready as before
for serving happiness and you;
to tell how over every thing
delight is blowing on the air –
I know not yet what I shall sing;
I only know the song is there.
by Афанасий Афанасьевич Фет (Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet)
a.k.a. Шеншин (Shenshin)
(1843)
translated by Frances Cornford and Esther Polianowsky Salaman
And if you go up that way, you will meet with a man,
Leading a horse, whose eyes declare:
There is no God. Take no notice.
There will be other roads and other men
With the same creed, whose lips yet utter
Friendlier greeting, men who have learned
To pack a little of the sun’s light
In their cold eyes, whose hands are waiting
For your hand. But do not linger.
A smile is payment; the road runs on
With many turnings towards the tall
Tree to which the believer is nailed.
by R. S. Thomas
from Poetry for Supper (1958)
Rambling At The Bridge Head 