No lapidary's heaven, no brazier's hell for me, For I am made of dust and dew and stream and plant and tree: I'm close akin to boulders, I am cousin to the mud, And all the winds of all the sky make music in my blood. I want a brook and pine trees; I want a storm to blow Loud-lunged across the looming hills, with driven sleet and snow. Don't put me off with diadems and thrones of chrysoprase; I want the winds of northern nights and wild March days. My blood runs red with sunset, my body is white with rain, And on my heart auroral skies have set their scarlet stain, My thoughts are green with springtime, and in the meadow-rue I think my very soul is growing green and gold and blue. What will be left, I wonder, when death has washed me clean Of dust and dew and sundown and April's virgin green? If there's enough to make a ghost, I'll bring it back again To the little lovely earth that bore me, body, soul, and brain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARAGRAPHS: 16 by HAYDEN CARRUTH JASPER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON FOR WALT WHITMAN by DAVID IGNATOW PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO JOHN BROWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MA LADY'S LIPS AM LIKE DE HONEY (NEGRO LOVE SONG) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE |