"WE are but clay," the preacher saith; "The heart is clay, and clay the brain, And soon or late there cometh death To mingle us with earth again." Well, let the preacher have it so, And clay we are, and clay shall be;— Why iterate?—for this I know, That clay does very well for me. When clay has such red mouths to kiss, Firm hands to grasp, it is enough: How can I take it aught amiss We are not made of rarer stuff? And if one tempt you to believe His choice would be immortal gold, Question him, Can you then conceive A warmer heart than clay can hold? Or richer joys than clay can feel? And when perforce he falters nay, Bid him renounce his wish, and kneel In thanks for this same kindly clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VICARIOUS ATONEMENT by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE HEMP (A VIRGINIA LEGEND) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD'S BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH SONNET TO THOSE WHO SEE BUT DARKLY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 3. WASHINGTON, D.C. by CLARENCE MAJOR |