O MYSTIC Lotus, sacred and sublime, In myriad-petalled grace inviolate, Supreme o'er transient storms of tragic Fate, Deep-rooted in the waters of all Time, What legions loosed from many a far-off clime Of wild-bee hordes with lips insatiate, And hungry winds with wings of hope or hate, Have thronged and pressed round thy miraculous prime To devastate thy loveliness, to drain The midmost rapture of thy glorious heart ... But who could win thy secret, who attain Thine ageless beauty born of Brahma's breath, Or pluck thine immortality who art Coeval with the Lords of Life and Death? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MINUET OF MOZART'S by SARA TEASDALE ODE, FR. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM by RICHARD BARNFIELD DRUG STORE by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER TO HIS GRACE, GEORGE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND by PHILIP AYRES NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 31 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |