The Miracle, and Other Poems — A Reader’s Guide

Diction and the Sensory World

Throughout the collection, Sheard selects verbs and nouns that emphasize texture, sound, and motion. In 'The Miracle,' Bartimaeus 'heard the beating of the bird's soft wings / Uprising through the air' and 'the camel's footfall in the dust.' These lines do not merely state that he is blind; they demonstrate his heightened auditory perception through specific, concrete sounds. Similarly, 'The Shepherd Wind' describes poppies 'white as foam upon the sea' and 'elfin bells to earth unknown,' blending the tactile with the fantastical. Sheard avoids abstract descriptors like 'beautiful' or 'sad,' instead letting the imagery carry emotional weight. In 'Gulls,' the birds are 'grey free-lances of wind and sky,' a metaphor that evokes both color and a sense of untamed freedom. This precision extends to her use of color: 'pink clouds drifted far and high, / Like rose leaves blowing past' in 'The Miracle,' and 'silver lace' in 'The Shepherd Wind.' Such choices create a vivid, almost painterly quality.

Voice and Perspective

Sheard shifts between first-person and third-person speakers, often adopting a contemplative or observational stance. In 'The Miracle,' the narrator remains external, describing Bartimaeus's world without entering his mind: 'Blind Bartimeus of the mask-like face, / And patient, outstretched hand.' This distance preserves the mystery of the character. By contrast, poems like 'Request' use a direct, pleading first person: 'Sing me a song—a song to ease old sorrows.' The speaker here is vulnerable, asking for art to 'dull the edge of care.' In 'A Song,' the speaker imagines transformation: 'O heart of mine—if I were but a swallow.' These shifts in voice allow Sheard to explore different emotional registers—from narrative restraint to lyrical intimacy. The dedication poem, addressed to her brother who died at Niagara, uses the second person: 'No tears for thee, no tears, or sighs, / Or breaking heart.' This direct address personalizes the collection from its opening pages.

Structure and Formal Choices

Sheard favors regular rhyme and meter, often employing quatrains with alternating rhyme schemes (ABAB or ABCB). 'The Miracle' uses iambic tetrameter and trimeter, creating a ballad-like rhythm that suits its narrative. The poem's stanzas are self-contained, each presenting a distinct image or moment: the road, the travelers, Bartimaeus's perception. In 'The Shepherd Wind,' the rhyme scheme is more varied, with lines like 'When hills and plains are powdered white, / And bitter cold the north wind blows' establishing a consistent pattern before the final couplet. Sheard also uses repetition for emphasis: 'A song of Hope to ring through all the morrows' appears twice in 'Request,' framing the plea. The collection's structure—a title poem followed by shorter lyrics—suggests a deliberate ordering, though the excerpts do not reveal the full arrangement. The poems vary in length from a few stanzas to several pages, indicating a range of formal ambition.

Recurring Motifs: Nature and the Sacred

Several poems blend natural imagery with spiritual or sacred language. 'The Temple' describes a 'house not made with hands' that is 'rain-washed and green, wind-swept and clean,' using ecclesiastical terms like 'aisles,' 'altar-light,' and 'incense' for a forest setting. The poem concludes with the possibility that 'God Himself walks to and fro.' In 'The Miracle,' the biblical setting is rendered through natural details: 'the pink clouds drifted far and high,' 'the moonlight washed the road fresh and sweet.' Sheard often associates the divine with the natural world rather than with institutions. 'The Shepherd Wind' imagines frost patterns as 'prisoned' moonbeams and 'souls of violets,' suggesting a spiritual dimension to winter. This motif recurs in 'Gulls,' where the birds are 'wraiths of hopes—the ghosts of dreams.' The boundary between the physical and the transcendent is porous, and Sheard's language consistently draws the reader's attention to this interplay.

Readers approaching The Miracle, and Other Poems will find a poet attentive to the craft of verse—her lines are measured, her images carefully chosen. The collection rewards attention to small details: the sound of a lizard on a wall, the shape of a frost flower, the cry of gulls. Sheard does not explain her meanings; she presents them through the senses. This editorial note has focused on authorial choices visible in the excerpts, but the full text may reveal further patterns. Let the poems speak for themselves, and listen for the echoes between them.

Sometimes, rereading Virna Sheard’s quiet lines—that shepherd wind, that temple—I think about how an old text can hold a steadying pulse. There is a similar hush around the older certainties, the kind that feel less like doctrine and more like a friend’s hand on the arm. I found that echo in The golden verses of Pythagoras — Story, Setting & Ideas. It lingers, that’s all.