Waiting by the stairs, in the hall <br />Where the panelling is white <br />With moonlight: one vertical figure, black, upright <br />As principle. <br /> Waiting in the leaves, as they blow, <br />Pile the voices of the night <br />On the paths: lone diffuse shadow, light, as low <br />As Longing. <br /> Caught as in a trap, in the No <br />Of the creaking hallowed walls <br />The one turned to the leaded window pane, sure <br />He heard someone out there. <br /> Scattered in a shower <br />Of passing breezes, shades of many forming one <br />Pepper with their glances the stone glowering down... Come <br /> <br />The day and each will see the other as reflections in the glass <br />Of the window, and forget- or shun <br />The half-knowing of memory- and let time pass. <br />Till. Spiky yew and churchyard dew under one <br />Headstone bury two, still wondering, at the last.<br /><br />Richard Blanch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blind-narcissus/
