This is the dark and secret place: Here in the cold wet lace Of ferns they stood Poised in crisp and watery blue. Here in the twilight damp they grew: Not many -- just a few. Mysterious, they always seemed Like sapphires burning there. Are these the same that bloomed In other, younger springs? The petals rise as freshly from the bough -- But I, I could not pick one now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE UNDERWORLD by ISAAC ROSENBERG MADEIRA FROM THE SEA by SARA TEASDALE THE ROSE AND THE BEE by SARA TEASDALE MARY DONNELLY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO A LITTLE INVISIBLE BEING WHO IS EXPECTED SOON TO BECOME VISIBLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |