Lord, I am like to Misletoe, Which has no root, and cannot grow, Or prosper, but by that same tree It clings about; so I by Thee. What need I then to feare at all, So long as I about Thee craule? But if that Tree sho'd fall, and die, Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUONAPARTE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): REMORSE by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS THWARTED UTTERANCE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE STILL HOUR by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN OUR LADY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 3. FRANCIS BRET HARTE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |