My soul is like a fragile flower, Whose cup the sky so full has filled With dew, that earthwards it must lower Its head, till half the wealth is spilled. Thus hast thou showered on me, my Heaven, Such glorious bliss without alloy; My heart, it bends 'neath bounty given, And overbrims in tears of joy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOSTON HYMN; READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON CABOOSE THOUGHTS by CARL SANDBURG A DAY: AN EPISTLE TO JOHN WILKES, OF AYLESBURY, ESQ. by JOHN ARMSTRONG SOIS SAGE O MA DOULEUR by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE LONG TRUCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN VISTAS OF LABOR: 1. THE STEAMSHIP STOKER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |