THE isle was barren. Far as hawk may scan In moors it roll'd up to a headland bare Save for one narrow patch, by ceaseless care Sumptuous with corn. Against the sky a Man Digging the waste I saw, -- bow'd veteran A stubborn spade he drave in stubborn ground And root and rock flung sheer without a sound Over the bleak edge. . . . Then anew began. "You, who have lodged in the teeth of the abyss Your cabin low, and triumph rich as this Wrung from the ocean-bitter mountain-side, What help'd you most to bring such treasure out?" He stood, and after scrutiny replied, "The thing on which I lean, the Spade of Doubt." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LARABELLE; CANTO FIRST by LEVI BISHOP ROMERO by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SHE WAS A BEAUTY by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ. by ROBERT BURNS ROWING IN FAMILIAR JANUARY by MILO DE ANGELIS COTTAGE SONG by JOHN DRINKWATER EPITAPH ON A NEPHEW, IN CATWORTH CHURCH, HUNTINGDONSHIRE by JOHN DRYDEN |