Still will I harvest beauty where it grows: In coloured fungus and the spotted fog Surprised on foods forgotten; in ditch and bog Filmed brilliant with irregular rainbows Of rust and oil, where half a city throws Its empty tins; and in some spongy log Whence headlong leaps the oozy emerald frog. . . And a black pupil in the green scum shows. Her the inhabiter of divers places Surmising at all doors, I push them all. Oh, you that fearful of a creaking hinge Turn back forevermore with craven faces, I tell you Beauty bears an ultrafringe Unguessed of you upon her gossamer shawl! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE RIVER by EDGAR ALLAN POE BROTHERLY LOVE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SAN GABRIEL by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN THE FIRST BREAK by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE HAPPY NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP AYRES WEDNESDAY IN Y' HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |