‘What would you have words do?’ a poet asked me,
‘and is it the same thing as what you would have your life do?’
The sounds of their names in my memory:
these things have passed through the air and are no more.
Light, the queen of colors, in a hollow sanctuary.
Yet—not an image, but something in its own right, then.
I have learnt to love you late,
Beauty at once so ancient and so new!
I have learnt to love you late!
—Karl Kirchwey, from “Late Beauty,” At the Palace of Jove (G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2002)