What offering shall I make unto my love, What worthy treasure lies in my slight store? When I do count its slender contents o'er, Alas! its poverty does only move To tears, that I should find myself so poor: Mine not the glory of great deeds in war, Mine not the laurel of poetic brows, Mine not the lustre of the civic star, Nor any meed that sparing fame allows;— How rich in worth is she, how poor my house! All wealth of glorious deeds at her dear feet I deem an offering only just and meet, And I, O grief! my empty hands uplift; Alas! what hope may be for me who have no gift! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 12 by CONRAD AIKEN WHITE NOCTURNE by CONRAD AIKEN DREAM LIFE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 11 by JAMES JOYCE FREE FANTASIA ON JAPANESE THEMES by AMY LOWELL DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE SPARROW HARK IN THE RAIN (ALEXANDER STEPHENS HEARS NEWS) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |