They tell me that I have this gift from you Of writing phrases in a rhythmic way; They tell—but words so often are untrue I've come to question everything they say. Of course we've heard exactly how it's done: The germ-cells, chromosomes, and all, you know. (It would be funny, if it were not sad To have them prove how this and that is so.) But, since the end's the same in either case, Here is a tale I think will please you more: My old soul, rested from its heaven-sleep, Came groping back for flesh to build a door, And having dreamed, perhaps, a bit too long, And being very full of rhythm still, Was glad to find you in my mother's house Writing a poem upon the window-sill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOUTH COUNTRY by HILAIRE BELLOC THE LITTLE BLACK BOY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT; AN ALLEGORICAL ROMANCE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE PICTURE OF LUCRETIA STABBING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE; A LEGEND OF GLASGOW by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |