WOUNDED am I, yet happier -- happier far Than they who have not felt the precious sting! Poor feet that bleed not with this wandering! Poor hands that burn not, plucking at a star! Poor hearts unblessed and whole! I bear the scar Of a too piercing loveliness. The thing Hung out of reach I touched, and now I sing Mad with delight, more blessed than others are. For since the blushing and ethereal hour When loveliness upon my heart was born, When I was stricken by her magic power, I run -- I run -- wild, ecstasied, forlorn, For beauty, when I go to pluck her flower, Pierces my willing bosom with a thorn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HITS AND RUNS by CARL SANDBURG ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT WORDS by PAUL VERLAINE TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH MR. DONNE'S SATIRES by BEN JONSON THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNET: EGYPT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE: PROGNE'S DREAM by JOHN ARMSTRONG |