NONE call thee flower! . . . I will not so malign The satin softness of thy plumed seed, Nor so profane thee as to call thee weed, Thou tuft of ermine down, fit to entwine About a queen; or, fitter still, to line The nest of birds of strange exotic breed. The orient cunning, and the somnolent speed Of looms of dusky Ind weave not so fine A gossamer . . . Ah me! could he who sings, On such adventurous and aerial wings Far over lands and undiscovered seas Waft the dark seeds of his imaginings, That, flowering, men might say, Lo! look on these Wild Weeds of Song -- not all ungracious things! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LOVER PLEADS WITH HIS FRIENDS FOR OLD FRIENDS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE THE VISION OF SIN by ALFRED TENNYSON A CAROL CLOSING SIXTY-NINE by WALT WHITMAN DRAB BONNETS by BERNARD BARTON ECHOES OF SPRING: 7 by MATHILDE BLIND ON MR. FREDERICK PORTER'S ROOM OF PICTURES, 1930 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |