Draught of Hope

Draught of Hope

by David J. LeLacheur

And what if I were Keats re-born?

Born to witness beauty and truth?

If given sight to live, not mourn,

Could I recite, as did that youth?

Shine light on treasures all around?

Hear elves and nymphs in each song bird?

With drunken mead, the world astound?

And scent of grass imbue each word?

And yet, how can this be --

With my own eyes I see.

It could be so, I dream aloud,

We are all atoms, born from stars.

(Did he know that legacy proud:

We are heirs to Venus and Mars?)

A hallowed mote, dazzling strand,

Borne from far by heavenly flow

A kingly gift from his own hand

Infuse my heart -- but can we know

From whither comes a soul?

Would his loss make mine whole?

Forlorn, adrift, from Faery home,

There is no sense to give me hope.

Without is but an empty tome;

No hand will throw a saving rope.

Through darkling doubt, despair of haze,

Tremors afoot, the world's a-quake.

I stoop; I fall; my eyes then raise --

Does light from yonder window break?

Turmoil'd, I close my view.

Within I'll find my hue.

I cannot take, nor live to break;

We must be all our Selves and full.

How then to live, this thirst to slake?

Is glory's dream but shadow's pull?

One sense remains: to touch, to feel.

The dryad's dance my heart will chase.

Noise and chatter must not steal

From me my nature's own embrace.

Yes, there is another:

Of all these, the mother.

Imagination, draught of hope,

I'll drink thee to the dregs with joy.

With burning brand and worldly scope

I'll march, I'll write, I'll be a boy.

Alive, reborn, recovered sight,

New breath will sing to heavens blue:

"From old to young, from dark to light,

Forever be forever new!"

And with these leaves I'll chance,

Once more to join the dance.

4/14/2011