FIRST the fine, faint, dreamy motion Of the tender blood Circling in the veins of children— This is Life, the bud. Next the fresh, advancing beauty Growing from the gloom, Waking eyes and fairer bosom— This is Life, the bloom. Then the pain that follows after, Grievous to be borne, Pricking, steeped in subtle poison— This is Love, the thorn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FALLEN STAR by GEORGE DARLEY A HIGH-TONED OLD CHRISTIAN WOMAN by WALLACE STEVENS THE VOW OF WASHINGTON by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER DESCRIBES THE PLACE WHERE CYNTHIA IS SPORTING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES THE WET MONTH by HENRY BATAILLE NEW YEAR'S EVE by MATHILDE BLIND |