How far is it to peace, the piper sighed, <br />The solitary, sweating as he paused. <br />Asphalt the noon; the ravens, terrified, <br />Fled carrion thunder that percussion caused. <br /> <br />The envelope of earth was powder loud; <br />The taut wings shivered, driven at the sun. <br />The piper put his pipe away and bowed. <br />Not here, he said. I hunt the love-cool one, <br /> <br />The dancer with the clipped hair. Where is she? <br />We shook our heads, parting for him to pass. <br />Our lady was of no such trim degree, <br />And none of us had seen her face, alas. <br /> <br />She was the very ridges that we must scale, <br />Securing the rough top. And how she smiled <br />Was how our strength would issue. Not to fail <br />Was having her, gigantic, undefiled, <br /> <br />For homely goddess, big as the world that burned, <br />Grandmother and taskmistress, frild and town. <br />We let the stranger go; but when we turned <br />Our lady lived, fierce in each other's frown.<br /><br />Mark Van Doren<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-lady-peace/
