Calligraphy
And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead. W. H. Auden
They had served me in a perfect teacup,The saucer shining, silverware sparkling,And I behaved as I should—I knew the rules.
Since I felt the crack before I saw it,I averted my eyes, my smile precise.
When I could I looked, and it surprised me.I saw a line an artist might have flourished,The quill in her hand a bird in flight.
And I wondered as I left the mansionShould I tell them? (Of course, they would manage.)Would they understand their priceless cup,Now imperfect, was so beautiful to me?
I had lost myself in the glance of lightIllumining the wound which life endures To deliver the mind from the forger’s gaze.
And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead. W. H. Auden
They had served me in a perfect teacup,The saucer shining, silverware sparkling,And I behaved as I should—I knew the rules.
Since I felt the crack before I saw it,I averted my eyes, my smile precise.
When I could I looked, and it surprised me.I saw a line an artist might have flourished,The quill in her hand a bird in flight.
And I wondered as I left the mansionShould I tell them? (Of course, they would manage.)Would they understand their priceless cup,Now imperfect, was so beautiful to me?
I had lost myself in the glance of lightIllumining the wound which life endures To deliver the mind from the forger’s gaze.