This is the dark and secret place: Here in the cold wet lace Of ferns they stood Poised in crisp and watery blue. Here in the twilight damp they grew: Not many -- just a few. Mysterious, they always seemed Like sapphires burning there. Are these the same that bloomed In other, younger springs? The petals rise as freshly from the bough -- But I, I could not pick one now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HIGHWAY DEATH TOLL by KAREN SWENSON ON DONNE'S POETRY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE LITTLE PEACH by EUGENE FIELD A THOUGHT IN TWO MOODS by THOMAS HARDY EPITAPH FOR SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, AT ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT A MONUMENT ... by EDWARD HERBERT HIS REQUEST TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |