Theodore Roethke

The Renewal

1

What glories would we? Motions of the soul?

The centaur and the sibyl romp and sing

Within the reach of my imagining:

Such affirmations are perpetual.

I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs,

Yet, like a tree, endure the shift of things.

2

The night wind rises. Does my father live?

Dark hangs upon the waters of the soul;

My flesh is breathing slower than a wall.

Love alters all. Unblood my instinct, love.

These waters drowse me into sleep so kind

I walk as if my face would kiss the wind.

3

Sudden renewal of the self—from where?

A raw ghost drinks the fluid in my spine;

I know I love, yet know not where I am;

I paw the dark, the shifting midnight air.

Will the self, lost, be found again? In form?

I walk the night to keep my five wits warm.

4

Dry bones! Dry bones! I find my loving heart,

Illumination brought to such a pitch

I see the rubblestones begin to stretch

As if reality had split apart

And the whole motion of the soul lay bare:

I find that love, and I am everywhere.