Pursuit
As wind-drowned scents that bring to other hills Disquieting memories of silences, Broad silences beyond the memory; As feathered swaying seeds, as wings of birds Dappling the sky with honey-coloured gold; Faint murmurs, clear, keen-winged of swift ideas Break my small silences; And I must hunt and come to tire of hunting Strange laughing thoughts that roister through my mind, Hopelessly swift to flit; and so I hunt And come to tire of hunting.
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"As wind-drowned scents that bring to other hills..."
Peter Courtney Quennell, Sir's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Pursuit"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...