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We well may envy those who gaze
perceptively thro’ ages past,
escaping from our modern maze
to probe the secrets long held fast,
and read in shreds of moulded clay
the world and work of Bronze Age Man,
whose simple relics there betray
his customs and his daily plan.
They there can see in crudest guise
that nascent waking of the soul,
the birth of Art, where untrained eyes
aspired to reach some far off goal,
still sought when men their scene review,
revolt, reject – create anew.

 

Originally selected for inclusion in The Hounds of Cridmore and Other Isle of Wight Poems, a book of Mr Hudson’s poetry with many illustrations by Heather Cobb, this poem was subsequently not used owing to space restriction.

 

This version varies slightly with the original 1939 version listed elsewhere in this section.

 

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.

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