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December 29, 2008 / Bo Mackison

In the Highest Field

Seed Heads

Snow Capped Seed Heads

I think continually of those who were truly great
Who from the womb,
Remembered the soul’s history
Through corridors of light
where the hours are suns,
Endless singing
Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips
still touched with fire
Should tell 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 words before our earth;
Never to deny pleasure
in the simple morning light,
Not 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 the wavering grass,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those
who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire’s centre
Born of the sun, they traveled
a short while towards the sun
And left the vivid air
Signed with their honor.

Sir Stephen Spender


  1. Marcie / Dec 29 2008 3:19 am

    Wonderful image. Love the poem that accompanies. Perfect!

  2. Gandalf / Dec 29 2008 8:44 am

    Awesome poem. The letter S did a good job.

    The flower heads seem to be marching, marching, marching – perhaps to shibboleth (you need to be a Fire Sign Theatre fan). 🙂

  3. Olivier Jules / Dec 29 2008 2:18 pm

    lovely capture

  4. bookbabie / Dec 30 2008 9:17 am

    Beautiful poem, never read it before, thanks for posting it with the lovely pic:)

  5. jeanabaena / Dec 31 2008 1:34 pm

    this might be my favorite winter picture yet 🙂

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