|ELCore.Net > Poetry > Catholic Poets > Poems of Alice Meynell|
The Track of a Human Mood
Not wish, nor fear, nor quite expectancy|
Is that vague spirit Surmise,
That wanderer, that wonderer, whom we see
Within each other’s eyes;
And yet not often. For she flits away,|
Fitful as infant thought,
Visitant at a venture, hope at play,
Unversed in facts, untaught.
In “the wide fields of possibility”|
Makes little trials, incredulous, that flee
Abroad on random wing.
One day this inarticulate shall find speech,|
This hoverer seize our breath.
Surmise shall close with manwith all, with each
In her own sovereign hour, the moments of our death.
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 14, 2001; not revised.