The Question

Il Poeta mi disse, “Che pensi?”
Virgil stayed Dante with a wayside word;
But long, and low, and loud and urgently
The poets of my passion have I heard
       Summoning me.
It is their closest whisper and their call.
Their greatness to this lowliness hath spoken,
Their voices rest upon that interval,
       Their sign, their token.
Man at his little prayer tells Heaven his thought,
To man entrusts his thought—“Friend, this is mine.”
The immortal poets within my breast have sought,
       Saying, “What is thine?”

Webpage © 2001 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created April 14, 2001; not revised.