Thou art the pride and passion Of the garden where God said, "Let us make a man." To fashion The beauty of thy head, The iron aeons waited And died along the hill, Nor saw the uncreated Dream of the urging will. A thousand summers wandered Alone beside the sea, And guessed not, though they pondered, What his design might be. But here in the sun's last hour, (So fair and dear thou art!) He shuts in my hand his flower, His secret in my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS LOVERS, AND A REFLECTION by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE EXILE'S SONG by ROBERT GILFILLAN AT THE CARNIVAL by ANNE SPENCER SUNDAY UP THE RIVER: 15 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) |