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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476552" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dying Young In Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dying young in autumn, <br>the ideal death of a flower or a star<br>whose beauty's still as obvious <br>as a door that's been left ajar at night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fireflies are search parties <br>out looking for someone <br>who's made an escape through the woods, <br>or they're lamp lighting deer<br>out of the dark into the glare of their insights. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Train whistle in the distance <br>works its ghost to death<br>Doppler-shifting its lament <br>into an infra-red eclipse of existence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then the stars in the eyes <br>of the recurring storm of the trees, <br>flaring over-eagerly like candles and dragons <br>to burn for the sheer delight of it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I make my way through a labyrinth <br>of foliage and moonlit shadows<br>to nowhere in particular <br>with a rocky slope glacially graded <br>down to what the locals say <br>is a fathomless lake none of their childhoods <br>were ever deep enough to plumb. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lie down upon the cool poultice of the earth <br>and I can feel it drawing <br>all the fever out of me like the effluvium <br>of swimming the thousand polluted mindstreams <br>I've become osmotically enculturated to <br>like a dendritic form of spiritual gangrene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon puts a new dressing on my wound. <br>I urge the pain to rest like a homing bird <br>on a limb that's healing like the rafter of a house<br>that broke under the weight of what it upheld <br>when a three alarm fire in the heart <br>sought sanctuary from an ice storm<br>and it was nobody's fault but my own <br>that I didn't let it go out like a flagging comet <br>with the rest of the daylilies <br>that died in harness like parachutes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've kept it alive for lightyears <br>like a book of the occult in an industrial library. <br>I've cupped its light in my hands <br>like an ancestral offering <br>to the enlightenment of my peers <br>and though the clouds have raved <br>and the wind turned vicious <br>it still burns in me like a dragon in an aviary, <br>a canary in a mine, a muse in a lantern, <br>a genie in an old lamp, a female demon <br>that only blooms in fire like a black waterlily <br>with nothing to fear from the new moon.<br>Or the fireflies trying to find it on a star map.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476552" data-title="Dying Young In Autumn de Patrick White" data-description="Dying young in autumn, 
the ideal death of a flower or a star
whose beauty's still as obvious 
as a door that's been left ajar at night.

The fireflies are search parties 
out looking for someone 
who's made an escape through the woods, 
or they'r..."></div>
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