THOU art perfected splendor without the peacock's feet, And only the manna-dew of heaven thou dost eat, Bird of many colors, kinsman to the dawn, Richer in rare hues than the iris heaven-drawn! But sad it is to think that any ruthless clown With the cunning of a blow-pipe may bring thy beauty down. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE BOY'S DREAM by KATHERINE MANSFIELD YOUNG BLOOD by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST FOR WALT WHITMAN by DAVID IGNATOW TO HENRY LINCOLN JOHNSON - LAWYER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |