I hold a song within my heart Of minor motif: tempo—slow There is a little alcove there That shelters much of woe. My soul might speak of trials sore Endured with near despair. My lips might whisper sage-like lore Gained sage-like through care. My heart is made of duckling's down The minors fall as water. My alcove can accommodate Each hope that fate may slaughter. My soul survives—a court supreme The trials come—and go My lips dare not, like pyramids Give voice to what they know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLAG GOES BY by HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT THE LONELY DEATH by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR by ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND THE LAND OF NOD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE SONG OF AMORGEN by AMORGEN; AMERGIN GLUINGEI; WHITE GRASS by ADA BAZZACCHINI |