Thy ‘Wind-Swept Uplands’

---

Thy ‘Wind-Swept Uplands’

Poem — An Invocation To The Master #370

What old old ache stirs awake
The tear that never left the grieving eye,
What old old wound doth break
From its silence into a renewed cry?

Mine eyes are lent to the mute stone 
That bore the hammer’s fierce blow,
All its unwept tears are now carven
From my being chained here below.

All is a welter and hail of blinding ill,
To Thy ‘wind-swept uplands’ I must crawl still.