The Poet with His Face in His Hands
.
.
You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need anymore of that sound.
.
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need anymore of that sound.
.
So if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
.
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
.
the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
.
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
.
like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
.
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
.
want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
.
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
.
by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.
.
.
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.
.
.
by Mary Oliver
from New and Selected Poems Volume Two