THIS day into the fields my steps are led. I cannot heal me there! Row after row, Thousands of daisies radiantly blow. They have not brought from Heaven my daily bread! But they are like a prayer too often said. I have forgot their meaning, and I go From the cold rubric of their gold and snow, And the calm ritual, all uncomforted. I want the faces! faces! remote and pale, That surge along the city streets! The flood Of reckless ones, haggard and spent and frail, Excited, hungry! In this other mood 'T is not the words of the faith for which I ail, But to plunge in the fountain of its living blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CASTAWAY by WILLIAM COWPER THE WRECK OF THE DEUTSCHLAND by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE CHILDREN'S HOUR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 106 by ALFRED TENNYSON TO THE MISS WEBSTERS, WITH DR. AIKIN'S WISH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |