THE poet's lovely faith creates The beauty he believes; The light which on his footsteps waits, He from himself receives. His lot may be a weary lot; His thrall a heavy thrall; And cares and griefs the crowd know not, His heart may know them all: But still he hath a mighty dower, The loveliness that throws Over the common thought and hour The beauty of the rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF JOHN KEATS' DEATH by SARA TEASDALE THE DOG by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES LINCOLN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LAST MAN: METAPHOR OF RAIN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES COMPENSATION by E. M. BRAINARD HONOUR'S APPEAL TO JUSTICE by OLIVA WARD BUSH |