As I run to the springhouse to get a cold drink, I am laughing and the world absolutely sings. For under the rafter where their gray bag hung like a paper temple, at the ragged threshold, on blue steps of air, I have slain them all -- the flickering wasps with red-earth bodies and amber isinglass wings and death in their asses. How formidable they look, how beautiful still in their polished legion in a windy corner! And how fine the day is: all blessed assurance, safe and secure as the shining corpse of the last dead warrior! What can I do but laugh? To kill one's enemies is a joyful exercise: how else can one keep the whole sweet problem of deliverance alive? http://www.wlu.edu/~shenano | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH DOWN THE BROOK by ROBERT FROST SUNSET by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |