I Think Continually of Those who were Truly Great

I think continually of those who were truly great
Who from the worm, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing
Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms
What is precious is never to forget
The delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth
Never to deny its pleasure in the simple morning light
Nor its grave evening demand for love
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit
Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest field
See how those names are feted by wavering grass
And by the streamers of white cloud