I GRIEVE not that ripe Knowledge takes away The charm that Nature to my childhood wore, For, with that insight, cometh, day by day, A greater bliss than wonder was before; The real doth not clip the poet's wings, -- To win the secret of a weed's plain heart Reveals some clew to spiritual things, And stumbling guess becomes firm-footed art: Flowers are not flowers unto the poet's eyes, Their beauty thrills him by an inward sense; He knows that outward seemings are but lies, Or, at the most, but earthly shadows, whence The soul that looks within for truth may guess The presence of some wondrous heavenliness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 11. HAMBURG by SARA TEASDALE HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON THE COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS by FRANCOIS VILLON A GULL GOES UP by LEONIE ADAMS THE BABY-HOUSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SILKWORM by VINCENT BOURNE |