A CRY from the green-grained sticks of the fire Made me gaze where it seemed to be: 'Twas my own voice talking therefrom to me On how I had walked when my sun was higher -- My heart in its arrogancy. "@3You held not to whatsoever was true@1," Said my own voice talking to me: "@3Whatsoever was just you were slack to see; Kept not things lovely and pure in view@1," Said my own voice talking to me. "@3You slighted her that endureth all@1," Said my own voice talking to me; "@3Vaunteth not, trusteth hopefully; That suffereth long and is kind withal@1," Said my own voice talking to me. "@3You taught not that which you set about@1," Said my own voice talking to me; "@3That the greatest of things is Charity@1. . . ." -- And the sticks burnt low, and the fire went out, And my voice ceased talking to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OWL CRITIC by JAMES THOMAS FIELDS THE BALLAD OF ORISKANY by OBADIAH CYRUS AURINGER VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF SARAH CANDLER by BERNARD BARTON A POINT OF VIEW by LETITIA A. BRACE |