INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light; Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye, There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot, A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 45 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI HERMAN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TO HIS WORSHIPFULL WEL-WILLER, MAISTER EDWARD LEIGH by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE NEW MOON by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HYMN FOR THE SLAIN IN BATTLE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |