Lord, for no man may look upon thy face, I turn from seeking thee to fall before The forms of thy creation, and adore The sacred clay of thine abiding-place: Yea, as a lover treasureth some trace Of her who will not hear, so evermore Close to my heart I wear the golden lore Of beauty, gemmed with shining nights and days. Dost thou not laugh in every child, and brood In every mother? Whose joy glorifies The passion of new loving, and controls Old pain? Are not our songs half-understood Overtones of thy voice, and our own souls Images of the dream behind thine eyes? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVID, OLD BUDDY, I WOULD DISCOURSE WITH YOU A WHILE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE DINNER-PARTY by AMY LOWELL THE DOLL BELIEVERS by CLARENCE MAJOR OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SANTA FE SKETCHES by CARL SANDBURG |