POETRY: Ascension, by Denis Devlin

Ascension Denis Devlin

It happens through the blond window, the trees
With diverse leaves divide the light, light birds;
Aengus, the god of Love, my shoulders brushed
With birds, you could say lark or thrush or thieves

And not be right yet—or ever right—
For it was God’s Son foreign to our moor:
When I looked out the window, all was white,
And what’s beloved in the heart was sure,

With such a certainty ascended He,
The Son of Man who deigned Himself to be:
That when we lifted out of sleep, there was
Life with its dark, and love above the laws.

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