All earth is a poet, All nature doth know it, Each firefly doth show it, Each frost work doth rhyme. Poor man who the fool is, And prone as the pool is, May yet learn God's rule is: All prose is part crime. The dust that we tread in, The swirls we are sped in, The throes we are wed in, Were dust, dust and dust. If out of God's treasure There came not a measure Of rhythmical pleasure In sibilant trust. Thy gift was a yearning That paradised learning, And ended in turning All seasons to Junes Through death that caresses, Through hatred that blesses, And love that distresses, And words that are tunes. A Milton may ghoul us, A Shakespeare may rule us, A Wordsworth may school us, A Tennyson cheer; But thine is the glory, Star-sprung from the hoary, Flame-dependent story Of the munificent ear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BARBER'S by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE TOLEDO CAPTURED BY THE FRANKS by AL-ASSAL LINES FOR THE HOUR by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 3. GENOA by ALBERTA BANCROFT BLIND FOLK by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE ON KNOWING WHEN TO STOP by L. J. BRIDGMAN NOBIS NATUS IN PRETIUM: NOBIS DATUS IN PRAETIUM by PATRICK CAREY |