WILD flowers in spring were sweet to childish hands As riches to the wretch possessing naught; And as the water-springs in desert lands Are the pale victories of patient thought: But sweeter, dearest, sweeter far, The hours when we together are. No more I know the childish joys of old, Nor yet have learnt the grave delights of age: A miser, gloat I on thy locks' rich gold; A student, ponder on thy soul's fair page. Thus do I grow both rich and wise, On these fair locks and those deep eyes. Therefore in wit and wealth do I increase, Poring on thee, as on a fair writ book; No panic-fear can make that rich stream cease, Nor doubt confuse the crystal of thy look. Some to the mart, some to the oratory, May turn them: thou art both to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE THAW by HAYDEN CARRUTH HOMING BRAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME by SIDNEY LANIER MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS SURFACES AND MASKS; 4 by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |