Volume > Issue > The Will

The Will


By William Dunn | March 1985

I’ve heard of those on milk and honey fed

But when I set about to eat

I found instead

Of heavenly bread

The food of earth surpassing sweet.


My hunger cried for pungent nourish­ment

Yet ached still more in satiety

For one more bite

Of tart delight

From dainties that beguiled the eye.


I wanted to sing praises to the Lamb

But in my heart the sound I heard

Was not I-Am

But chiseled sham,

A wrought idolatry of word.


Ambition radiated its own light

And pushed the rhymes away from You,

A lust for night

Safe from Your sight

But blazing in the world’s view.


So make my final songs, O, to ring true

That no broken distance lies

Between, Lord, You

And my own view

Until at evening singing dies.


©1985 New Oxford Review. All Rights Reserved.

Enjoyed reading this?



You May Also Enjoy

Processional (upon seeing Dürer’s woodcut of Roswitha)

By Dürer’s hand, I saw her kneeling down

Before the Emperor: Roswitha — she


Sonnet for C.B.

How strange to see this landscape in the glass,

The surface — twinges frozen to…

To Phoebe*


Gentle handmaid

Of us all,

Who assisted Paul

And others

Of the early church,