Spender, Richard - Laughing Blood - May Night
Type of Spiritual Experience
A description of the experience
The sky was like the cool blue mottled marble
of a far spanned high arched roof
In some forsaken, silent, brook-side chapel,
Bird haunted and with the hush of unseen worshippers.
What voices come to me
From the spirit thronged stillness?
They are like the presences
That come to one and touch the hand
In a deserted grey flag aisle
Where the sunshine and the coloured windows
Paint the warm stone with butterflies of quivering light.
Through the carved window of the cloud
Where the last blue waters of the day
Stream with the shining purity of angels' eyes,
What voices come to me?
With the unfading music of the dear lost things
What ghost flies?
O wings of my heart,
Poor anxious, agitating things,
Little bruised bird,
Have peace, be still.
Happier, far, to dream of what has been
And live upon the bright red blood of younger years
Than in the coldness of remorse and pain
To follow, limping, clouds that cannot stay -
Or mourn the old unsleeping grief of flowers thrown down.