White with daisies and red with sorrel And empty, empty under the sky! -- Life is a quest and love a quarrel -- Here is a place for me to lie. Daisies spring from damnèd seeds, And this red fire that here I see Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds, Cursed by farmers thriftily. But here, unhated for an hour, The sorrel runs in ragged flame, The daisy stands, a bastard flower, Like flowers that bear an honest name. And here a while, where no wind brings The baying of a pack athirst, May sleep the sleep of blessèd things, The blood too bright, the brow accurst. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INVITATION TO A PAINTER: 3 by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE CAMELOPARD by HILAIRE BELLOC OVID, OLD BUDDY, I WOULD DISCOURSE WITH YOU A WHILE by HAYDEN CARRUTH SONG OF TWO CROWS by HAYDEN CARRUTH SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JAMES GARBER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE COMING OF WAR: ACTAEON by EZRA POUND |