We hear of death, Our thoughts move in a ring; It seems steel-fingered hands shall make at last An end of breath. But in this panic air, Let me now contemplate one single thing To hold me fast, One thing cut to my need And larger than despair— The dark plump apple seed Hung in its mica walls, Thriving by unknown laws of seed progression— Yes, though the strong tree falls, Though it must die; There is a thought in nature that shall save The sound seed, and hold high Its life, its long succession— And for this fact no hands can dig a grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIS IS NOT I by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 10. TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ON ... POPE'S WORKS by MARK AKENSIDE THE LETTER by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 3. EXERCISE by JOHN ARMSTRONG GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 6 by RICHARD BARNFIELD PSALM 68 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE SEVENTH AND EIGHTH by WILLIAM BLAKE |