Transmutation

Transmutation

Poem abut thinking of loved one at the end of the day.

1944-07-30

One page typewritten document

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[underlined]TRANSMUTATION [/underlined]

Often, oh! Often about this time,
Now, at this most magic hour
When dusk steals home like a tired child
On tides of daylight ebbing low,
The trees are stilled to a dream of rhyme
Held in the earth’s last golden glow
And the shadowy air is soft and mild,
And night seals flower from sleepy flower –
Often, alone, I lie and see
That stars have pierced the dusty blue
Till, silent in its witchery
The moon comes up. And I think of you,
How you’ve loved me under the stillness of light
(O! dreaming eyes and your broad brow!)
Bathed in a breathless quietness
When time was flowing for our delight ……
That you were with me, with me now! …...
Then rocking in flames of loneliness
The quivering dreams of beauty fall –
I hate each monosyllabic star,
And the once-loved face of the moon’s become
Dispassionate, impersonal –
A clammy death-mask, sweating, dumb;
Or a livid sore, or a leprous scar.

Tuddenham
30 July 44.