Blest is the man that sees and hears The shuttles of the eternal weaver,' And shrieks not, sobs not savage tears, Burns not with fever. He is a tree that's firmly planted Where a plunging cataract blanches, Spreading there as though enchanted His lucky branches. But what if I, whose different thews Scarce bear the dawning light unwincing, Discovered in some curious clues Vision commencing? I should be driftwood, moon and sun In gulping, groaning water-gorges Sucked down, shot high, and snatched and spun Through timeless orgies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BY THE POTOMAC by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH GRASS FINGERS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE A SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY [MAY 24, 1865] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE ANTONY AND [OR, TO] CLEOPATRA by WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE |