NATURE cannot remain in rigid lines. She has too much of beauty. She must bend The stiff, stern postures of the oaks and pines, And she must curve the fallen leaves; distend The quiet sands to arcs in circling wind; Or sag an arrow nosing on sky-free. A cliff, defying mallets of the sea, Will lose its bronze will and be crushed and thinned Until it is a lifted cup, a bowl. Nature is like a sculptor, with strange stone, Who loves the broken: draperies wind-blown, A torso with a breast. Her cosmic soul Hungers for curves: a rising, wavering place, A gothic arch of dawn, an oval face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONCERNING NECESSITY by HAYDEN CARRUTH SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |