WHEN as abroad, to greet the morn, I mark my Graciosa walk, In homage bends the whisp'ring corn, Yet to confess Its awkwardness Must hang its head upon the stalk. And when she talks, her lips do heal The wounds her lightest glances give: In pity then be harsh, and deal Such wounds that I May hourly die, And, by a word restored, live. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNDAY NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA by ROBERT BROWNING HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX by ROBERT BROWNING ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC by JOHN DRYDEN EROS (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON UNDER HOUSE ARREST IN WINDSOR by HENRY HOWARD PHILLIS'S AGE by MATTHEW PRIOR MAY DAY by ADELAIDE A. ANDREWS POEM FOR PICTURE: TO A PORTRAIT BY EDWARD STEICHEN (RACHMANINOFF) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |