I said, being humble, What is there for me to write about? I may not aspire to the high themes Of the great. I said, being very humble, I will write about dust. I went forth and looked at dust. Dust . . . Swirling in endless garlands over a white road in the wind; Settling in deliberate silence on the unused furniture Of an old house; Little heaps of dust under shabby tombstones; Dropping multitudinously upon the earth; Rocks, trees, mountains, animals, people, palaces, nations. Who am I That I should presume to write on the grandeur Of this terrible dust? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTING LOVERS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 9. AT THE ALTAR-RAIL by THOMAS HARDY FARRAGUT by WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH THE QUAKER GRAVEYARD by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL ODE IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS FALLEN FOR FRANCE by ALAN SEEGER |