OH truant from the gates of gold, What tongue of man shall answer me This is not heaven I enfold, A snakeless Eden that I see, A perfect paradise I hold, Where, undismayed of any sting, The timorous heart of joy may set Its youngest thought a-wandering,— Its shivering mortal—to forget,— Its voiceless harmonies—to sing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KEEPING UP WITH THE SIGNS by MADELINE DEFREES AT THE ZOO IN SPAIN by CLARENCE MAJOR |