Like the snail, who on his back Bears his home and bivouac, Crawling in this world of wonder Not an inch himself from under, So I bear the starry dome Above me for my creeping-home, Prying forth pale antennae To pierce my sheath of mystery. Trailing on this sludge of time, Groping toward the vast sublime, Can this that overarches me Be my own immensity? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE ROAD TO CHORRERA by ARLO BATES ELEGY: 19. TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED by JOHN DONNE YOUR LAD, AND MY LAD by RANDALL PARRISH ODES: BOOK 1. ODE 1. PREFACE by MARK AKENSIDE GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 9 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE THREE MUSICIANS by AUBREY BEARDSLEY |