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12. Sep 2007

A New Theme


     I fain would leave the tender songs	
       I sang to you of old,	
     Thinking the oft-sung beauty wrongs	
       The magic never told.	
     And touch no more the thoughts, the moods,	        
       That win the easy praise;	
     But venture in the untrodden woods	
       To carve the future ways.	
     Though far or strange or cold appear	
       The shadowy things I tell,	        
     Within the heart the hidden seer	
       Knows and remembers well.	
     I think that in the coming time	
       The hearts and hopes of men	
     The mountain tops of life shall climb,	        
       The gods return again.	
     I strive to blow the magic horn;	
       It feebly murmureth;	
     Arise on some enchanted morn,	
       Poet, with God’s own breath!	        
     And sound the horn I cannot blow,	
       And by the secret name	
     Each exile of the heart will know	
       Kindle the magic flame.	

     George William Russell (1867-1935)