I have sipped and supped and tasted Of the food a poet sings; Rare exotic fauna, basted By some chef, the peer of kings. Cloyed, I've thrown aside or wasted Nectar and ambrosial things. Though I sit amid the gleam of Damask, broadcloth, shimmering silk, Crystal bowls that hold the cream of Nature's stores of every ilk; Oft in yearning mood I dream of Boyhood's bowl of bread-and-milk! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN FISH-LEAP FALL by ROBERT FROST MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |