WERE all eyes changed, were even poetry cold, Were those long systems of hope that I tried to deploy Skeletons, still I should keep one final hold, Since clearer and clearer returns my first-found joy. I would go, once more, through the sunless autumn in trouble; Thin and cold rain dripping down through branches black, Streams hoarse-hurrying and pools spreading over the stubble, And the waggoner leaving the hovel under his sack Would guide me along by the gate and deserted siding, The inn with the tattered arbour, the choking weir; And yet, security there would need small guiding. I know one hearth, one love that shine beyond fear. There, though the sharpest storm and flood were abroad, And the last husk and leaf were stripped from the tree, I would sue for peace where the rats and mice have gnawed, And well content that Nature should bury me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SACK OF BALTIMORE by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS THE MARYLAND BATTALION [AUGUST 27, 1776] by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER THE SECRETARY; WRITTEN AT THE HAGUE, 1696 by MATTHEW PRIOR SONNET: 35 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A HIGH-TONED OLD CHRISTIAN WOMAN by WALLACE STEVENS RUINS OF CORINTH by ANTIPATER OF SIDON |