Here you will find the Poem Dedication of poet Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
LORD, on this paper white, My soul would write Tales that were heard of old Of perilous things and bold; Kings as young lions for pride; Lost cities where they died Last in the gate; the cry That told some Eastern throng A prophet was gone by; The song of swords; the song Of beautiful, fierce lords Gone down among the swords; The traffick and the breath Of nations spilled in death; The glory and the gleam Of a whole age Snared in a golden page,? Such is my dream. Yet thanks, if yet You give The crumbs by which I live,? Blown shreds of beauty, broken Words half unspoken, So faint, so faltering, They may not truly show The blue on a crow's wing, The berry of a brier Cupped in new snow As though the snow lit fire, . . .
