Robert Francis

When others run to windows or out of doors To catch the sunset whole, he is content With any segment anywhere he sits. From segment, fragment, he can reconstruct The whole, prefers to reconstruct the whole, As if to say, I see more seeing less. A window to the east will serve as well As window to the west, for eastern sky Echoes the western sky. And even less— A patch of light that picture-glass happens To catch from window-glass, fragment of fragment, Flawed, distorted, dulled, nevertheless Gives something unglassed nature cannot give: The old obliquity of art, and proves Part may be more than whole, least may be best.

Though I have never caught the word Of God from any calling bird, I hear all that the ancients heard. Though I have seen no deity Enter or leave a twilit tree, I see all that the seers see. A common stone can still reveal Something not stone, not seen, yet real. What may a common stone conceal? Nothing is far that once was near. Nothing is hid that once was clear. Nothing was God that is not here. Here is the bird, the tree, the stone. Here in the sun I sit alone Between the known and the unknown.

The American eagle is not aware he is the American eagle. He is never tempted to look modest. When orators advertise the American eagle’s virtues, the American eagle is not listening. This is his virtue. He is somewhere else, he is mountains away but even if he were near he would never make an audience. The American eagle never says he will serve if drafted, will dutifully serve etc. He is not at our service. If we have honored him we have honored one who unequivocally honors himself by overlooking us. He does not know the meaning of magnificent. Perhaps we do not altogether either who cannot touch him.