(29 November 1898 – 22 November 1963 / Belfast)

Ballade Mystique

The big, red-house is bare and lone
The stony garden waste and sere
With blight of breezes ocean blown
To pinch the wakening of the year;
My kindly friends with busy cheer
My wretchedness could plainly show.
They tell me I am lonely here—
What do they know? What do they know?

They think that while the gables moan
And easements creak in winter drear
I should be piteously alone
Without the speech of comrades dear;
And friendly for my sake they fear,
It grieves them thinking of me so
While all their happy life is near—
What do they know? What do they know?

That I have seen the Dagda’s throne
In sunny lands without a tear
And found a forest all my own
To ward with magic shield and spear,
Where, through the stately towers I rear
For my desire, around me go
Immortal shapes of beauty clear:
They do not know, they do not know.

The friends I have without a peer
Beyond the western ocean’s glow,
Whither the faerie galleys steer,
They do not know: how should they know?

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Comments (9)

Brilliant expression has been made by Clive Staples Lewis. Beautiful poem.
Wonderful imagination!
Mysteries associated with solitude and one loving it, marvelously unfolded. A well deserved classic poem of the day/
" Piteously alone" ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
one of things this poem speaks to is the difference between solitude and loneliness. we—or many of us—need solitude. and many of us need it to imagine and create. -gk
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