Harter, Nathan W.

Digital Commons @ Butler University

MANUSCRIPTS'I SPEAK TOO MUCH OF STARSNathan W. HarterI speak too much of stars. My poetryExceeds my logic, which is God to me.Such dreams should not be spoken; let them passInto the vectors of a looking-glass,Elusive in a finer quadrant, free.To speak of stars and conjure-up a hiIlSo high it meets the stars and rises still,To entertain the madness of a manWhose flight and wistful fortune want a planWorks murder in the dark cathedral chill.I speak of stars; I reach for stars. I lindThese tired limbs too mortal for this mind,And all the poet hoped to capture withThe gilded word and mesmerizing mythBecomes as splendid color to the blind.So let me cry, as all men someday must,That thrones are tarnished by our mortal dust,Defiant windmills stand against the skyAnd shall until the last Quixotes die,Surviving through the years each desperate thrust.I am not God, and that is all I fear.There is no better definition hereFor all that is, and was, and would have beenWithin the tragic fantasies of men.But damn the stars, so crystalline and clear!41//

I Speak Too Much of Stars

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I Speak Too Much of Stars

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Digital Commons @ Butler University