The Anaesthetic

________________________________________________
Title:     The Anaesthetic
Author: Rachel Annand Taylor [More Titles by Taylor]

Like a white moth caught heavily, heavily,
In the honeyed heart of some white drowsy flower,
I lay behind the leaves of apathy,
Where not the reddest pang has any power.
Then, like one drowning, I rose and lapsed again
On dim sweet tides of the great anodyne.
Why must they hale me back to drink the pain
That seethes in consciousness, an evil wine?
I love the closing trances, howsoever
Their seals be broken: they are wise and kind.
If death can give such fumes of poppy, never
Shall I revile him. Oh! uncertain mind!
Hast thou an equal pleasure in the proud
Flame-builded pillar, and the pillar of cloud?

[The end]
Rachel Annand Taylor's poem: Anaesthetic

________________________________________________



GO TO TOP OF SCREEN