THE world is young today: Forget the gods are old, Forget the years of gold When all the months were May. A little flower of Love Is ours, without a root, Without the end of fruit, Yet -- take the scent thereof. There may be hope above, There may be rest beneath; We see them not, but Death Is palpable -- and Love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BOMBER IN LONDON by RUDYARD KIPLING CANE: NOVEMBER COTTON FLOWER by JEAN TOOMER THE CASE OF ALBERT IRVING WILLIAMSON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SUNRISE TRUMPETS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER FRAGMENT (2) by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE HISTORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA: BOOK 2 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE OPEN DOOR by NETTIE STEPHENSON BOWEN TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. FORMS ETERNAL AS THE MOUNTAINS by EDWARD CARPENTER |