Classic Poem

Press me no greater weight, bear me no deeper load.
There is a place where the mind refuses, the senses lean.
I shall blot my eyes forever with what I have seen
From this ledge, from the curve of this incredible road.

The wind has not yet awakened, the wind is asleep
On the water's edge, the receding rocks are still cold,
Washed by the night rain, agate and smoldering gold.
On the shore over the pebbles, purple blue ripples creep.

Look, more than beauty beckons, more than sheer, sharp height!
Where last night, hiding it, hung long clouds, limp, unfurled,
Snow has fallen on top of the great wall of the world,
Morning sun strikes white fire, strikes with invincible light.

And where the bay curves, molded by runways of sand,
Waters that moved and washed once under the Roman prow,
Bear a light winged plane, its companion adventurer, now
Stretching across the ages a recognizable hand.

Standing here in the sunlight, above the wide breathing sea,
At a sweep, at a glance is to know all for one moment. Time,
And the strength of man and his passing; the brief ticking rhyme
He is, in the sonorous pulse of eternity.

Clear in the azure morning, against this slope, lies the long way
Of his life, the nets of his toil, the vine of his seed,
His fortress of pride, the roof of his shelter and need,
His broken temple of victory crowning the bay.

And within this sweep, from the dark terraced earth to the height
Of snow shining mountain, down to the curve of the sea,
Lies the vast dream of man, what it was, what it is to be,
As if spoken now for our ears, shown once clear for our sight.