When flowers thrust their heads above the ground in showers pale as raindrops, and as round, who would suspect that such, before they're gone, could hold the sun? So fine a pressure from above can bring so frail a thing to push its way aloft? -- through clay, a woman might consider cloth for constant stitching? Right straight down and right straight up again, through holes so close, no manly eye can see the bloom come out of needles -- or can she be using rain? And now that she still labours in the gloom, her room just lighted by the sun turned moon -- need any man be told what flowers are, that hold a star? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SYMPATHY (2) by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE GRAPE-VINE SWING by WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS DAWN by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS THE AGE OF HERBERT & VAUGHAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AURORA LEIGH: BOOK 8 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING DOVECOTT MILL: 11. WEDDED by PHOEBE CARY |