"I grasped a thread of silver; it cut me to the bone -- I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone -- I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade -- And this was the bargain God had made For a little gift of speech Set a cubit higher than the common reach, A debt running on until the fool is dead." Carve a Pater Noster to put at his head As a curse or a prayer, And leave him there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL, FR. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT THE BOUNDARIES OF APPRECIATION by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE GIANTESS by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE WIND WEAVING by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT LINES ON A PICTURE OF A GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF A PRAYER BY THE ARTIST GRUSE by THOMAS CAMPBELL SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 40 by BLISS CARMAN POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 12. THE BROTHER BURGESSES by GEORGE CRABBE |