A clipped lamp poured its light on light
Twice it went to sleep and on waking up
Its sleep-weary eyes blinked in disbelief.
A poem before dawn from knots of words
On what rhymes with a green table light!
Nothing rhymes with a table lamp right.
Poetry of things comes from inner light.
Its music is in the very nature of things,
The way it trains its light on trite things.
