What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SUICIDE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON IN WALKED BUD WITH A PALETTE by CLARENCE MAJOR WAITER IN A CALIFORNIA VIETNAMESE RESTURANT by CLARENCE MAJOR THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE |