White with daisies and red with sorrel And empty, empty under the sky! -- Life is a quest and love a quarrel -- Here is a place for me to lie. Daisies spring from damnèd seeds, And this red fire that here I see Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds, Cursed by farmers thriftily. But here, unhated for an hour, The sorrel runs in ragged flame, The daisy stands, a bastard flower, Like flowers that bear an honest name. And here a while, where no wind brings The baying of a pack athirst, May sleep the sleep of blessèd things, The blood too bright, the brow accurst. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BUDDING MORROW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SONG OF THE SEA ROVER by GAMALIEL BRADFORD JERUSALEM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD BALLAD OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |