Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Sonnet IV

The shaft of lightning wit was swiftly thrust,
Was parried and returned in glinting sparks;
A fire, kindled on mere mental dust,
Arose to counter swordlike, bold remarks.

The stimulus of conversation good,
Of living soul outstretched to living soul
In simple frankness (as we always should
But often don’t): these taken on a whole
Encourage, humble, strengthen, and renew.

It was alive, this conversation raw
And rife with meaning, and its end was true—
A zephyr, rumbling forth a springtime thaw.
The silver fellowship of souls is sweet
When minds awake with brother minds can meet.

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