(9 March 1888 – 17 October 1956 / Rangoon, Burma)

The Poet

I take what never can be taken,
Touch what cannot be;
I wake what never could awaken,
But for me.

I go where only winds are going,
Kiss what fades away;
I know a thing too strange for knowing,
I, the clay.

User Rating: 3,3 / 5 ( 47 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

what is the poem all about?
Extraordinary. True poetic insight. Only very good poets can, This clay did.
A beautiful expression, love it!
Very nice poem. Enjoyed it.
a poem for metaphysical poets, lovely~
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