HeyJaredA Certain Slant of Light
Musings "under conditions unpropitious." Devin O'Donnell is author of a book on schole and was research editor of Bibliotheca. He and his family live in the Northwest, where he writes, fly fishes, and remains a classical hack.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 22, 2026
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St. Michael (opens the original)
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THOU champion highOf Heaven's imperial Bride,For ever waiting on her eye,Before her onward path, and at her side,In war her guard secure, by night her ready guide!To thee was given,When those false angels roseAgainst the Majesty of Heaven,To hurl them down the steep, and on them closeThe prison where they roam in hopeless unrepose.Thee, Michæl, thee,When sight and breathing fail,The disembodied soul shall see;The pardon'd soul with solemn joy shall hail,When holiest rites are spent, and tears no
The Hold-fast (opens the original)
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I threaten'd to observe the strict decreeOf my dear God with all my power and might;But I was told by one it could not be;Yet I might trust in God to be my light."Then will I trust," said I, "in Him alone.""Nay, e'en to trust in Him was also His:We must confess that nothing is our own.""Then I confess that He my succour is.""But to have nought is ours, not to confessThat we have nought." I stood amaz'd at this,<span
Walking Away (opens the original)
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It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day—A sunny day with leaves just turning,The touch-lines new-ruled—since I watched you playYour first game of football, then, like a satelliteWrenched from its orbit, go drifting awayBehind a scatter of boys. I can seeYou walking away from me towards the schoolWith the pathos of a half-fledged thing set freeInto a wilderness, the gait of oneWho finds no path where the path should be.That hesitant figure, eddying awayLike a winged seed loosened from its par
To Papi, in Memoriam (opens the original)
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I saw you walking the tall forests of GodYou led us through a redwood wild—As with the joy of giants in paths untrod—Showing how even a man might become a child.You taught me to fish the running rivers of earth,And when the bulls of Bashan gave me chase—Like our Lord, with resurrection’s mirth—You laughed and broke their spell with smiling grace.Across the land and sea you would roam,Seeking that ol
To William Butler Yeats (opens the original)
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Our kind vandalize the earth,And yet you give me hope, your truthThe truth of change, and of the soil,The changer, whose long toilIn summer sun and winter rainBrings the fallen up again.When your flesh became a shade,Annihilated into what it madeAnd into earth, food for worms,Substance exfoliating forms,Poet, you were but keeping faithWith your native truth and
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