"What In Me Is Dark . . . "*

Within my ill-sorted lexicon
There lies a treasure infinite in scope
At which I peer with tantalizd hope
And pry and probe for pearls that I can pawn;
Or glowing phrase which I might build upon.
To seek, to find and not forever grope
With fumbling fingers powerless to cope,
Before the fervent flame has flared and gone.

If limpid luminescence fades with time,
perhaps the fault lies not within the eyes;
This flashing brilliance is but pantomime
Of stellar light that waxes, wanes and dies.
Though blind, man still the infinite may climb
To win again a promised Paradise

© Robert Ernest LaRock


* John Milton (1608-16740, Paradise Lost [1667],
Book I Line I.