I know how poems spring up. Well water flows From some prolific century of snows. A meager distillation, hidden; found By those who unlock darkness underground And open doors of rock. And underneath The visibilities of bone and breath From some dark subterranean river of being The singers lift their silver for man's seeing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WRITTEN IN EMERSON'S ESSAYS by MATTHEW ARNOLD WAR IS KIND: 21 by STEPHEN CRANE THE SONG OF THE BOW, FR. THE WHITE COMPANY by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE A LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA ANNUNCIATIO B.V. by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCEPTION by DAISY MAUD BELLIS THE WORKING MAN'S SONG by JOHN STUART BLACKIE |