And here the hermit sat, and told his beads, And stroked his flowing locks, red as the fire, Summed up his tale of moon and sun and star: "How blest are we," he deemed, "who so comprise The essence of the whole, and of ourselves, As in a Venice flask of lucent shape, Ornate of gilt Arabic, and inscribed With Suras from Time's Koran, live and pray, More than half grateful for the glittering prize, Human existence! If I note my powers, So poor and frail a toy, the insect's prey, Itched by a berry, festered by a plum, The very air infecting my thin frame With its malarial trick, whom every day Rushes upon and hustles to the grave, Yet raised, by the great love that broods o'er all Responsive, to a height beyond all thought!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOREFATHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN JANUARY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER by RUPERT BROOKE WE WEAR THE MASK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE ONE GRAY HAIR by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR |