“And we are put on earth a little space
that we may learn to bear the beams of love.”
After all, wasn’t it the wanted thing,
this sudden basking in a golden beam,
being one on whom the sun would seem
to rise and set? For whom whole choirs sing?
In those long hours of heaven’s opening
only to pour upon each cherished dream
bleak rain, or that grey dampening stream
of dullness, dim and witless threatenings—
what was the hope, the hap, so striven for?
Simply to see the end of suffering? Or was it
something more? These beams of love burn,
smooth as lasers, loosen the stuck door;
delicate, precarious gold haze fuzzes
the soul—reveals a whole world to unlearn.