She spoke movingly of strange calamity and of her prophetic dream
Prophetic in the sense not of prediction but of a special enlightenment
Anciently ascribed to God but now to uncanny inspiration
That renders intelligible the world and its horrors

Famous devotee of form she was schooled in the immemorial craft
She mastered as well as anyone alive the fearsome curriculum
But fame or reverence come not to the one at the head of the class
Accolades accrue to the maker of beauty the herald of truth

A true poet and of the Devil’s party knowing or unknowing
Self-possessed confident and civil
Wielding legitimate credentials
Expressing truth despite her radiant thriving

Avoiding apparently the threat of deadly pride
For what is good for the poet might not be good for the world
Maintaining in due proportion her notable accomplishments
In what really matters to render pain into beauty

Illumination no doubt requires procedure
But from obscurity of the life or of the work
Beauty and truth may sometimes arise
As freedom requires the most arduous discipline