The Poetry Corner

To A Poet Whose Verses I Had Read

By Victoria Mary Sackville-West

I would not venture to dispraise or praise. Too well I know the indifference which bounds A poet in the narrow working-grounds Where he is blind and deaf in all his ways. He must work out alone his path to glory; A thousand breaths are fanning him along; A thousand tears end in one little song, A thousand conflicts in one little story; A thousand notes swell to a single chord. He cannot tell where his direction tends; He strives unguided towards indefinite ends; He is an ignorant though absolute lord.