I may not pause near Persian garden wall To stare at stars haloed in rippled pool, And shiver to impassioned plea. The call To tramp romantic Romany roads must cool. I dare not drape myself in Spanish shawl, Nor drink to dreams from rose of Venetian glass; I shall not smile at Indian village brawl, Nor seek in China crafts of beaten brass -- But this my shrine: To thank High God at night That those I love are safe; for sweet, brown bread And clothes, clean and cool; for rapture, light That lifts all grief, my child's sweet golden head; To stoke white fires that sear my brave man's breast -- To wait for wings! For me this way is best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON GOOD FRIDAY HYMN by GEORGE SANTAYANA REALITY REQUIRES by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA THE CONVENT THRESHOLD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON SUNDAY UP THE RIVER: 15 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) |