curated by Adam Fitzgerald

Thursday, January 22, 2009


I've been ill amongst my fellow kind
And yet have borne with me joys
That few sought its indulgence, bind
As dreams that press meditation's
Wanton coys o'er desired revelation.
Religion's chariot halted for my thought
Art bowed, showed its infinite tongues
Of charm; science hailed its width
Of symmetry, doubting the conscience's
Concentration and behave; the beam
Of fire from the sun cast mine own
To slumber in imagination of spheres.
Under the heavens of moon-like shapes
Mine eyelids shut; I fell into unfelt realms.

by Samuel Greenberg (1893 - 1917)