Theodore Stephanides
Unreaped Harvest
I often think that deep, down deep,
The sum of all I've seen and heard,
The song of every stream and bird,
The sight of every hill, must sleep.

Those memories that sieved thei spells
From all beauty of the world
Must lie, like phantom larvae curled,
Within the brain's deep-seated cells.

Sometimes I feel them stir and strain
As if to seek the morning light;
But, as I cannot wake them quite,
The sigh and sleep again.

(from "Worlds in a Crucible" 1973)