I SEEN, too clear and historic within us, our sins of omission Frown when the Autumn days strip us all ruthlessly bare. They of our mortal diseases find never healing physician; Errors they of the soul, past the one hope to repair. I Sunshine might we have been unto seed under soil, or have scattered Seed to ascendant suns brighter than any that shone. Even the limp-legged beggar a sick desperado has flattered Back to a half-sloughed life cheered by the mere human tone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MILKMAID'S SONG by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL POLITICAL GREATNESS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE CORDWRIGHT'S SONG by AUGUSTE DE BELLOY A SOUL'S TRAGEDY; A DRAMA by ROBERT BROWNING SUBWAY TRACK-WALKERS by DANA BURNET |