I must return to that valley of vision, gather again to me flocks, crescent moon and star; God – let the last lights burn at this down-dusking of heaven’s intermission, grant a rebirth to things I used to see seeming so close – yet known to be so far. Long since I knocked at the Interpreter’s door, explained whence I came and what I hoped to find; with kindred spirits flocked to him, and asked of the path that lay before – how to win valid praise ( avoiding shame ) we who were young – vigorous – yet so blind. Now in tired age sharpening my needles rubbing herbs on my forehead to wake my brains ! – yet – if it evokes that sage ( farcical though it be ) – if it inveigles my failing soul to final glimpse of Godhead it is enough – recompense for all pains. Cut image now wax hold my dream, and let the acid bite and show its power; my hand is on the plough which cut deep furrows to hold the harvest’s sheen; tremblingly I vision this final light, and place it high in the lonely tower. ~ Samuel Palmer prepares to etch ” The Lonely Tower “. – Ian Emberson
