THE varied colours are a fitful heap: They pass in constant service though they sleep; The self gone out of them, therewith the pain: Read that, who still to spell our earth remain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER THE CORNUCOPIA OF RED AND GREEN COMFITS by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CENSUS-TAKER by ROBERT FROST THE FAIRIES by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE |