SUN, moon, and stars, the ample air, The birds shrill whistling everywhere, Fields white with lambs and daisies; The pearls of eve, the jewelled morn, The rose rich blowing on the thorn, The glow of blush-rose faces; The silver glint of sun-smit rain; The shattered sun-gold of the main, And heaven's sweet breath that moves it; The earth, our myriad-bosomed nurse, This whole miraculous universe Belongs to him who loves it! Why fret then for the gold of this, The fame of that man, or the bliss, Or such another's graces? Oh heart that chim'st with golden verse, My heart, thou art the magic purse Which all dull trouble chases; Thine too fruition of all fame When the live soul, as flame with flame, Weds the dead soul that moves it; Then sing for aye, and aye rehearse, This whole miraculous universe Belongs to him who loves it! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: FOR MY GRANDMOTHER by COUNTEE CULLEN THE PAINS OF SLEEP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A FAREWELL TO FOLLY: CONTENT by ROBERT GREENE EPICOENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN: FREEDOM IN DRESS by BEN JONSON DANSE RUSSE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |