Written by Brenda Mox
Calmed by deep silence that reigns
as evening declines,
delighted by degrees to invoke order out of chaos,
she feared nothing but interruption
and scorned the insertion of hapless distractions,
for she could not stem
the rapid rush of retrospective thought.
She enjoyed a conqueror’s solitude
to converse with her own thoughts.
Those formless lumps of links which rise
vividly in her mind’s recesses
as vague suggestions wander across her brain,
where odd sentiments there grow fresh and sheltered.
Cold, impassible, assiduously industrious,
she looked thoughtful almost to severity.
Stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment,
half suffocated with thoughts fast risen,
her soul sat on her lips and language flowed
with the swelling spring of full, fervid eloquence.
Text © Brenda Mox
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