IF I did seem to you no more Than to myself I seem, Not thus you would fling wide the door, And on the beggar beam! You would not don your radiant best, Or dole me more than half ! Poor palmer I, no angel guest; A shaking reed my staff ! At home, no rich fruit, hanging low, Have I for Love to pull; Only unripe things that must grow Till Autumn's maund be full! But I forsake my niggard leas, My orchard, too late hoar, And wander over lands and seas To find the Father's door. When I have reached the ancestral farm, Have clomb the steepy hill, And round me rests the Father's arm, Then think me what you will. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PURIFICATION OF YE B. VIRGIN (TO A BASE, A TENOR, AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT EUTERPE by LUCIUS MORRIS BEEBE ILLUSIONS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AURORA LEIGH: BOOK 8 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. I KNOW THAT YOU ARE SELF-CONSCIOUS by EDWARD CARPENTER ECLOGUE: ELINOURE AND JUGA by THOMAS CHATTERTON |