There is a stark, grim beauty in your world, Tragical lines of grotesque artistry. Backed to the wall, defiant, you can see Strange animate things, each with its question hurled At nothing; your dear, monstrous planet whirled In its reiterated circle helplessly. There is no pattern, no reward-to-be; Over it all a torn white flag, half-furled. Yet as you stand there naked, scornfully Pushing aside the soft creeds most men wear, You hold a clean blade lifted in the air And all the paths below your feet are free. My faith is rich and deep, and yours is bare. I sometimes envy your futility. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GARDEN AGAIN by KAREN SWENSON TO MARK ANTHONY IN HEAVEN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1) by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON THE SCHRECKHORN by THOMAS HARDY THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES by CHARLES LAMB BALL'S BLUFF; A REVERIE by HERMAN MELVILLE |