O Life, who art thou that with scarcely scanned Mysterious aspect breakest on my way, And vanishest, leaving a lump of clay As gift, as symbol, shapeless in my hand? Kindling and mute, thou gavest no command; Yet am I left as prompted to obey, With a great peril at my heart. Oh, say, Am I a creature from achievement banned? In my despair, my idle hands are cast, Are plunged into the clay: they grip, they hold, I feel them chafing on a moistened line; Unconsciously my warmth is in the cold. O Life, I am the Potter, and at last The secret of my loneliness is mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 13. CUPID IS A WARRIOR by PHILIP AYRES RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AND LOCUSTS BLOOM TOMORROW by MILDRED TELFORD BARNWELL A YEOMAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |