Net of Gold

Net of Gold


Artist: Peter Furlonger

Medium: Studio glass, Black overlay, blue cased. Glass blower Carl Norbruch,  Text Louis Macneice

The Sunlight on the Garden by Louis MacNeice

The sunlight on the garden 
Hardens and grows cold, 
We cannot cage the minute 
Within its nets of gold, 
When all is told 
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances 
Advances towards its end; 
The earth compels, upon it 
Sonnets and birds descend; 
And soon, my friend, 
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying 
Defying the church bells 
And every evil iron 
Siren and what it tells: 
The earth compels, 
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon, 
Hardened in heart anew, 
But glad to have sat under 
Thunder and rain with you, 
And grateful too 
For sunlight on the garden.

From Collected Poems of Louis MacNeice, published

Add To Cart