THIS rock, too, was a word; A word of flame and force when that which hurled The stars into their places in the night First stirred. And, in the summer's heat, Lay not your hand on it, for while the iron hours beat. Gray anvils in the sky, it glows again With unfulfilled desire. Touch it not; let it stand Ragged, forlorn, still looking at the land; The dry blue chaos of mountains in the distance, The slender blades of grass it shelters are Its own dark thoughts of what is near and far. Your thoughts are your, too; naked let them stand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 54 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SONNET: 14. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF CATHERINE THOMASON by JOHN MILTON THE LEGEND OF ARA-COELI by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE POET by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY ASLEEP, ASLEEP; MARTYDOM OF SAINT STEPHEN by LUCY ANN BENNETT MR. MERRY'S LAMENT FOR LONG TOM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |