Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.”  I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”


We are pilgrims and strangers in this world.  Christianity teaches this truth explicitly, but every other mythology, it seems, hints at it implicitly.  It is as inescapable as death; but it is more than just the fact that life here cannot last forever.  Would we be satisfied here if it could?  Or would we just find the need for something indefinably more growing ever more acute?  Either Augustine was right, and “our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee,” or we are of all men most miserable.  If he was, then we can find spiritual wholeness only in that place where we neither idolize this world nor despise it.




I would not leave the sun-lit stones

That line the streets of Athens town;

But I will search for Hesperus’ Isle

Though in the end I drown.


I would not turn from Caerleon

Nor Byzantium forsake;

But I will seek Broceliande

Though on her rocks I break.


I lose not lightly Rivendell

Nor Misty Mountains’ chilly breath;

But I will sail for Numinor

E’en though I sail to death.


Remember: for more poetry like this, go to and order Stars Through the Clouds!

Donald T. Williams, PhD


About gandalf30598

Theologian, philosopher, poet, and critic; minister of the Gospel who makes his living by teaching medieval and renaissance literature; dual citizen of Narnia and Middle Earth.

Posted on December 12, 2011, in Christianity, Donald Williams, Myth, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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