I erred! the thing exists. Its little heart doth beat. But it dies between my fists, by faltering life forsook, caught by a child who came to try that angling feat, red flannel for his bait, a pin to serve for hook. Pardon, O little soul that sings so sweet and high when the broad argent moon has its paraselenes, dead thus between my hands, what pain my spirit gleans! and blue, yes, thou art blue, as blue as deepest sky! Must, on the breeze, thy dust to lands afar be blown! Light fairy, of the woods, a phantom pale thou art. Blue, I mourn thee, green, alas! what would I then have done? I would have tossed thee back. Imperfect is the heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND BEFORE THE FLOWERS OF FRIENDSHIP FADED FADED: 21 by GERTRUDE STEIN HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY, 1852 by ALFRED TENNYSON A CROWNED POET by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH DEAD AUTUMN by BEULAH ALLYNE BELL MOUNT SINAI by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR FO'C'S'LE YARNS: 2D SERIES. DEDICATION by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |