Ann Keith
A human shape can grow to be a symbol
If men are vessels, treasure-chests, that hold
Some more, some less, and are not seen and pass,
At times, although but rarely, one emerges from the mass
Of shadow-thronging images to work a change so great,
That it can make with passing time a passing human shape
Into a moving symbol: Thus, I do not now expect
Or hope or even wish in any place
Where I shall ever be to see his face
With eyes again or hear his voice, and yet --
No single object that these eyes reflect
Can ever seem the same to me again.
Because the thought of him has come to be
A meditation and a discipline,
A measurement of authenticity,
A touchstone of the genuine, to know the golden true,
A glass to read the world of men and things more clearly through.
Page(s) 137
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