His heart was in his garden; but his brain Wandered at will among the fiery stars. Bards, heroes, prophets, Homers, Hamilcars, With many angels stood, his eye to gain; The devils, too, were his familiars: And yet the cunning florist held his eyes Close to the ground, a tulip bulb his prize, And talked of tan and bonedust, cutworms, grubs, As though all Nature held no higher strain; Or, if he spoke of art, he made the theme Flow through boxborders, turf, and flower tubs Or, like a garden engine's, steered the stream, Now spouted rainbows to the silent skies, Now kept it flat and raked the walls and shrubs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PHANTOM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD: SONG by OLIVER GOLDSMITH THE FIRST PROCLAMATION OF MILES STANDISH [NOVEMBER 23, 1620] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON IF WE KNEW; OR, BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH WHITE FIELDS by JAMES STEPHENS NATIONAL ODE; INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA by BAYARD TAYLOR ASPIRATIONS: 9 by MATHILDE BLIND A DEDICATORY ELEGY TO THE ... UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE by ABRAHAM COWLEY |