IN myriad swarms, each summer sun An insect nation shows; Whose being, since he rose begun, And e'er he sets will close. Brief is their date, confin'd their powers, The fluttering of a day; -- Yet life's worth living, e'en for hours, When all those hours -- are play. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE USES OF POETRY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS NOW CLOSE THE WINDOWS by ROBERT FROST ON A VIRTUOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN THAT DIED SUDDENLY by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT ANACTORIA by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE HINT O' HAIRST by HEW AINSLIE THE DIFFERENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH INTRODUCTORY AND VALEDICTORY by LEVI BISHOP |