I think continually of those who were truly great. <br />Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history <br />Through corridors of light where the hours are suns <br />Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition <br />Was that their lips, still touched with fire, <br />Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song. <br />And who hoarded from the Spring branches <br />The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms. <br /> <br />What is precious is never to forget <br />The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs <br />Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth. <br />Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light <br />Nor its grave evening demand for love. <br />Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother <br />With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit. <br /> <br />Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields <br />See how these names are feted by the waving grass <br />And by the streamers of white cloud <br />And whispers of wind in the listening sky. <br />The names of those who in their lives fought for life <br />Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre. <br />Born of the sun they travelled a short while towards the sun, <br />And left the vivid air signed with their honour.<br /><br />Stephen Spender<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-think-continually/
