I saw rain falling and the rainbow drawn On Lammermuir. Hearkening I heard again In my precipitous city beaten bells Winnow the keen sea wind. And here afar, Intent on my own race and place, I wrote. Take thou the writing: thine it is. For who Burnished the sword, blew on the drowsy coal, Held still the target higher, chary of praise And prodigal of censure -- who but thou? So now, in the end, if this the least be good, If any deed be done, if any fire Burn in the imperfect page, the praise be thine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONVERGENCE OF THE TWAIN; LINES ON LOSS OF THE TITANIC by THOMAS HARDY FOR THE BED AT KELMSCOTT by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) THE DISCOVERY; SONNET by JOHN COLLINGS SQUIRE THE STORY OF ZERBIN AND ISABELLA, FR. ORLANDO FURIOSO by LUDOVICO (LODOVICO) ARIOSTO MY GARDEN by KATHARINE CANBY BALDERSTON THE STRING AROUND MY FINGER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |