Poems and Notes

By N.S.A. Parsons

Poems and Notes is an anthology of striking poems that touch on a variety of themes. N. S. A. Parsons has crafted for the reader an enchanting and moving series of poems reflecting the many facets of his experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728394602

N.S.A. Parsons

N. S. A. Parsons is married and lives and works in London.

Book preview

79

In its intense serenity

Our vast emptiness

Is perfect in the morning sky:

Its inward shine

As luminous and crystalline,

Like impenetrable sympathy;

Where we search our loneliness

In its inspiring silentness:

The consoling cold where hope must ever die.

No pleasure has more awful eyes than wine;

A yearning more rich and deep

For the impossible we still entreat:

Careless helpless unstanchable

Hysterical;

Warm smiling ghastly salt and sweet.

The recognition wastes

The self it tastes

In its staring sleep.

Our dreams in their remembrance decay,

But the gaze of the day

Is void, inscrutable, and gray.

The cloud I regard in my distant fashion;

Beyond all remonstrance,

The unquestionable evening theirs instead,

Abstracted in the golden air.

As mine the ardour and mine the doubt,

The looker-on as their glow goes out,

I gather in insistence and despair:

The recollection in their noiseless passion

I am their desolate romance.

With as pale respect from its purple bed

Desire moves not where the affect is dead.

My completion is the corresponsive dawn;

Chill radiant and blind;

Where my impatience is outworn:

Its unsearchable same sadness find,

Confirmed and chastened to forgo,

In the sufficience I have learnt to know:

As once the church its fervent voices blent

With winter, an ennobled sentiment

As calm profound unconscious as the snow.

2000

Omitted second stanza of 79.

To self control I must submit again;

My rage suppress at that authority I hate:

Which duty of morality

We owe to our divinity,

Who suffer for our consequence and fate.

And as near as love abide the pain,

Not cough at what we can’t assimilate.

80

The far music of fidelity,

That same remembered strain -

Its long returning sad refrain

My inattention sues again,

As if it loved me.

An intercession, like the awakened breeze

With wistful distance stirs

The presiding stillness of the trees,

It always recurs:

The intimate and lonely air of fate,

Which as sure with its movement heaves

The ardour I reciprocate -

Wilful heedless plaintive as the leaves.

Of the hope that I could not forgo,

As a child what it longs for believes,

It as dearly bereaves;

Whose issue’s the end we can never know.

My powers suspended as the heavy summer

In discomfortable languor,

I were deaf as its dreaming cloud -

But that I cannot so my heart subdue;

Feverous and proud,

While the dyings that my fantasies pursue

Of others’ pleasure

Such elegiac pain inspire

As the pleading of my past,

The infinite and inconsolable desire:

Which mortifies with sudden cold;

As the shadow its substance construes,

Faint against the sky,

Its estranged shape insensibly lose.

The disillusion that I sought to die

Than be longer cajoled.

As from the endlessness it grieves

Distracted, in its prospect of despair -

The child an amusement conceives,

That touches its attention unaware:

Unconscious of itself alone

In the sun-spotted