What eye reflect the sight Of this star-stippled night: What throat produce the words Of these night-haunted birds, Feathered, who sleep by day With silence none can say? The ripple's perfect arc, Nudging the river's glass, Astounds the huddled dark Where shadows hugely pass; Circumference none may draw. This then the body's flaw: No cool peace-perfect thing Hs sprung, nor yet may spring, And as a ripple ply These under-depths of sky Wherein I tensely stand -- Hot word and ready hand Who own -- to probe the heart Caverned from me apart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES ON LEAVING THE BEDFORD STR. SCHOOL HOUSE by GEORGE SANTAYANA TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE [1611] by MICHAEL DRAYTON GROWING OLD by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE MARCHING (AS SEEN FROM THE LEFT FILE) by ISAAC ROSENBERG DRAPIER'S HILL by JONATHAN SWIFT THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S PARTING WORDS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |