A poem by Hart Crane. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself for now, but don’t feel you have to do the same. I’d love to get different interpretations of it.

LEGEND

As silent as a mirror is believed
Realities plunge in silence by…

I am not ready for repentance;
Nor to match regrets. For the moth
Bends no more than the still
Imploring flame. And tremorous
In the white falling flakes
Kisses are,—
The only worth all granting.

It is to be learned—
This cleaving and this burning,
But only by the one who
Spends out himself again.

Twice and twice
(Again the smoking souvenir,
Bleeding eidolon!) and yet again.
Until the bright logic is won
Unwhispering as a mirror
Is believed.

Then, drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry
Shall string some constant harmony,—
Relentless caper for all those who step
The legend of their youth into the noon.

Related posts:

1. A Few Thoughts: Innocence, Sexuality, Feminism, Non-Rapists, Writing, and Comfort
2. This Is My Ugly Side
3. Upswing: Just Keep Breathing
4. Fucking, Language
5. I Want to Stop Writing About What Happened to Me.