To me all beauty that I see Is melody made visible: An earth-translated state, may be, Of music heard in Heaven or Hell. Out of some love-impassioned strain Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom; And, dreaming of it here again, Perhaps re-lives it as perfume. Out of some chant that demons sing Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; And, haply, still remembering, Re-lives it here as some wild hue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 65 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE LET HER SLEEP! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE MESSAGE-BEARER by JOHN D. BARRY AN AUTUMN SONNET by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TAKE YOUR CHOICE: OR HERE'S GRANTLAND RICE'S METHOD by BERTON BRALEY THE BROTHER DEATH by RUTH DUHME TO ANGELINA, FR. THE ELDER BROTHER by JOHN FLETCHER A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER BOY-CHILD by PETER GARDINER |