The Power of the Dead (2011)
“His farmer’s conscience was at rest, he could concentrate happily on the writing of his story of water, reed, tree, cloud, and stone. In imagination he was living with the spirit of lost love, his memories of sand and wave and tideless Mediterranean sea, where the cub, in Barley’s cage of hands, had known its first salt wave; where Shelley was of the corals and the dreaming weeds of the Mediterranean sea. Had drowned Shelley risen with her upon his Cloud, to outsoar, with Keats, the shadow of N...ight; to fall as rain upon the granite rocks of Dartmoor and nourish the starveling lichens, mosses, and grasses?
* He knew that such derivative thoughts had no value, beyond release of constriction before the true flow began.
When, to the new eyes of thee, All things, by immortal power, Near or far, Hiddenly To each other linkèd are, That thou canst not stir a flower Without troubling of a star; When thy song is shield and mirror, To the fair snake-curlèd Pain … He sat at the table with a map of Dartmoor before him.MoreLess
* He knew that such derivative thoughts had no value, beyond release of constriction before the true flow began.
When, to the new eyes of thee, All things, by immortal power, Near or far, Hiddenly To each other linkèd are, That thou canst not stir a flower Without troubling of a star; When thy song is shield and mirror, To the fair snake-curlèd Pain … He sat at the table with a map of Dartmoor before him.MoreLess
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