And what I'll finish with is also a new poem.
It's called "The Hymn."
"Had I died?
Or was I very old and blind?
Or was the dream this hymn, this ecstatic paean,
this woven music of color and form
of the sense of airy space?
Was the dream showing forth the power of memory, now, today
or at any moment of need, or the power of the inner eye
distinct from memory, imagination's power,
greater than we remember, in abeyance, the well in which we
forget to dip our cups.
At all events, that broad hillside of trees all in leaf,
trees of all kinds, all hues of green, gold greens,
blue greens, black greens, pure and essential green greens,
and warm and deep maroons too, and the almost purple
of smoke trees, all perceived in their massive, rounded,
composed forms across a half mile of breezy air,
yet with each leaf rippling, gleaming, visible
almost to vein and serration.
At all events, that sight brought with it,
in dream, such gladness I wept tears of gratitude,
such as I've never wept, only read
that such tears sometimes of shed, amazed to know this power
was mine, a thing given to see so well, though asleep,
though blind, though gone from the Earth."
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]