I am moved by this sonnet written by John Masefield; but I have to confess that I do not fully understand it; maybe I should study it more, maybe it has an internal meaning which will always elude me… but sometimes that is the thing about poetry, it is ultimately a private expression of feelings and sentiments, and sometimes it cannot be fully accessed or understood by anyone else!
VI
Here in the self is all that man can know
Of Beauty, all the wonder, all the power,
All the unearthly colour, all the glow,
Here in the self which withers like a flower;
Here in the self which fades as hours pass,
And droops and dies and rots and is forgotten,
Sooner, by ages, than the mirroring glass
In which it sees its glory still unrotten.
Here in the flesh, within the flesh, behind,
Swift in the blood and throbbing on the bone,
Beauty herself, the universal mind,
Eternal April wandering alone.
The god, the holy ghost, the atoning lord,
Here in the flesh, the never yet explored.
John Masefield
Lois Elsden 