The Carcass
Remember that object we saw, dear soul,
In the sweetness of a summer morn:
At a bend of the path a loathsome carrion
On a bed with pebbles strewn,
With legs raised like a lustful woman,
Burning and sweating poisons,
It spread open, nonchalant and scornful,
Its belly, ripe with exhalations.
The sun shone onto the rotting heap,
As if to bring it to the boil,
And tender a hundredfold to vast Nature
All that together she had joined;
And the sky watched that superb carcass
Like a flower blossom out.
The stench was so strong that on the grass
You thought you would pass out.
Flies hummed upon the putrid belly,
Whence larvae in black battalions spread
And like a heavy liquid flowed
Along the tatters deliquescing.
All together it unfurled, and rose like a wave
And bubbling it sprang forth;
One might have believed that, with a faint breath filled,
The body, multiplying, lived.
And this world gave out a strange music
Like of running water and of wind,
Or of grain in a winnow
Rhythmically shaken and tossed.
Form was erased and all but a vision,
A sketch slow to take shape
On a forgotten canvas, which the artist finishes
From memory alone.
Behind the rocks a fretting bitch
Looked at us with fierce mien
Anxious to retrieve from the corpse
A morsel that she had dropped.
Yet to this rot you shall be like,
To this horrid corruption,
Star of my eyes, sun of desire,
You, my angel and my passion!
Yes, such you shall be, you, queen of all graces,
After the last sacraments,
When you go beneath the grass and waxy flowers,
To mold among the skeletons.
Then, oh my beauty! You must tell the vermin,
As it eats you up with kisses,
That I have preserved the form and essence divine
Of my decayed loves.
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Related quotes
The Rape Of The Mist
High o’er the clouds a Sunbeam shone,
And far down under him,
With a subtle grace that was all her own,
The Mist gleamed, fair and dim.
He looked at her with burning eyes
And longed to fall at her feet;
Of all sweet things there under the skies,
He thought her the thing most sweet.
He had wooed oft, as a Sunbeam may,
Wave, and blossom, and flower;
But never before had he felt the sway
Of a great love’s mighty power.
Tall cloud-mountains and vast space-seas,
Wind, and tempest, and fire –
What obstacles such as these
To a heart that is filled with desire?
Boldly he trod over cloud and star,
Boldly he swam through space,
She caught the glow of his eyes afar
And veiled her delicate face.
He was so strong and he was so bright,
And his breath was a breath of flame;
The Mist grew pale with a vague, strange fright,
As fond, yet fierce, he came.
Close to his heart she was clasped and kissed;
She swooned in love’s alarms,
And dead lay the beautiful pale-faced Mist
In the Sunbeam’s passionate arms.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Butterfly Logic
BUTTERFLY LOGIC
Butterfly logic is the intelligence of beauty. These poems represent my attempts at butterfly logic.
BUTTERFLY
the butterfly
cannot fly back
to the cocoon
he grabs thorns
from the rose
to arm himself
BUTTERFLY ANGEL
butterfly angel
soars with infinity
no rest stops
gliding from
blossom to blossom
bringing new flowers
to her fold to bloom
butterfly angel
knows
shifts into winged ecstasy
morphs into woman
touching hearts without compromise
butterfly angel
flies into infinity
MAGIC BUTTERFLY
It is the essence
of magic
for a butterfly
to be earthly
angel singing
watch her
spread wings
wide
as colors
magnificent
adorn
shadows
embrace
rainbows
and me.
UNREPENTANT BUTTERFLY
I listen to music
I think of you
aesthetic
unrepentant
butterfly.
there is beauty
in those
notes.
APPROACHING A FLOWER
One cannot approach a flower
with negligence
or short term vision
seeing only the petals
and not stamen or stem
a butterfly sings
even flowers must
have wings.
YOU CANNOT DRINK THEM
breasts sculpted on
an uneven plane
of lust
accentuated by eyes
full of vice and amour
a kitten's lips and tongue
that you wish would
pay homage to you
even though you know
kittens only trust themselves
and even that is at their
own risk
the heat pounds through
her mental surf
opening the doors
to the prism of her desires
so many colors to her passion
and tastes gone wild
that excites every sexual prophecy
but this kitten is a woman
a butterfly who only purrs
when she flies and her
back is against the wall
and her mouth like silence
matches her wit and says
nothing at all
because the moment you
have her corralled
and you think you have won
you have lost poorly
and poor losers in love
are worse than
poor losers in life
because they beat their foes
with brutality and prayer
even though they have lost
their love
and if you have not caged
this butterfly and desire
still runs your veins in
alcoholic inebriation
her persona growing
more clearly instead
of a slowly fading photograph
an impressionist painting emerges
turning surreal in the nightfall
the fuchsia of your desire
is hers to command even
as you deftly constrain her
with a web of fine silk ropes
and once again in your haste
to hold her fast you
tie slip knots instead
of the more harnessing bowie knots
and as she slips from your grasp
you remember that even
though butterflies are liquid
you cannot drink them
CONVERSATIONS WITH GOD
If god is nature
Or encompasses nature
Or created nature
Then one must use nature
To converse with god
Dancing with butterflies
And listening to seashells
And burning bushes
114 REASONS WHY NOT
You are married to
a doctor a fine
micro surgeon
of some repute.
I am but a
butterfly salesman
nestling beauty
from winged
creatures.
TATTOOS OF DESIRE
Your neck
the birthplace
of desire.
A tattooist
looks upon
this canvas
transfers doves
& eccentricity
to its lush bend.
He paints
passion’s evening
and a butterfly
allowing
the nightingale
to arch at the nape.
He illustrates
– his eyes closed
kisses lingering…
A BUTTERFLY UNVEILS NEW COLORS
Like a butterfly
unveiling new wings
you show me your colors
wings melded of quiet
strength and dignity
with colors taken
from goddess dreams
as she sleeps.
CUPPING THE BUTTERFLY
he cups the butterfly
with crumbling fingers
there is no place to hold
only cradle in fingers
made of tears
he loves her
and kisses softness
and slowly mends
with these brittle fingers
mends the holes and tatters
one at a time
KITE FLIER
You are the butterfly
who escaped reason
whirling your colors
in empathy
as your tongue
disdains excuses.
– the room grows darker
with her departure
I wander relentless
pursuing your silent
wing falls
drinking deeply
at your draught.
– he follows
a desert dream
While you dance
to the music
of the wind
I fly kites
in hopes
of distracting you.
I could be blind
and know you
are beautiful.
IT’S ABOUT BUTTERFLIES
We were questioned
as to whether or not
we were sheltering
butterflies.
Harboring these artistic
creatures in our homes
as if anything or
anyone could capture
living gossamer.
Long has it been known
that the universe of
butterflies was
powerful and pervasive
and extended beyond
simple physical life.
People only saw the beginning stages
from caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly
without realizing that after
butterfly there was continuation
of life immortal.
Larva is Latin for ghost
From ghost to ghost.
AFTER BUTTERFLY
Have you ever wondered
even for the briefest
of moments what happens
after butterfly?
© 1998 - 2006 lgjaffe
poem by Larry Jaffe
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A Corpse
It was afternoon and the month of June
The Sun shone full in the Asian skies,
Sending down scorching rays,
Enough to cause death to those who sleep,
On the cozy beds made of sponge.
Beside the public place, upward face,
I did see a corpse of a child lying
With belly exposed, legs stretched wide,
The arms folded on the unbuttoned chest,
Slight afar from the callous crowd,
Flies hummed around as if the Death Angel,
Had done his job early in the morn.
With chilled blood in the veins,
And fearful heart in the chest,
Riveted gaze at the frightening scene,
Advanced I timidly forcing legs,
Stood beside examining from top to toe,
And shook it from the sooty arms,
To certify belief occupying my mind.
At the jerk first he sprang up,
Sat, squatted rubbing the eyes,
Yawned, snorted breathing aloud,
To make me believe, he was not dead,
But it is pity he knew not,
He was a living corpse.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Come Back As A Flower
The starngest thought came to me on this morning
As I awake to greet the coming dawn
The sun was hardly peaking through the garden
It felt that with everything I was one
Then I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
The dew had finished making love to many
A rainbow smelling sweet was in the air
I envied all the silence I saw growing
So unmoved by things outside themselves
Then how I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
Oh as a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
(background)
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
Sweetness of love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angel of my dreams...
She is close by, I can feel her silent heat,
Her beautiful form pressed against me,
My body trembles at the mere thought of her,
Desire like a razor slices open my soul,
Opening me to her tender embrace,
I am lost in a passionate dream of her,
Each breath ruled by her intoxicating power,
Eyes open, the dream is over, once again she is not here,
And my heart weeps in silent agony for her return...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Spring Wind in London
I Blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree.
My challenge to the world is hurled;
The world must bow to me.
I drive the clouds across the sky,
I huddle them like sheep;
Merciless shepherd-dog am I
And shepherd-watch I keep.
If in the quiet vales they lie
I blow them up the steep.
Lo! In the tree-tops do I hide,
In every living thing;
On the moon's yellow wings I glide,
On the wild rose I swing;
On the sea-horse's back I ride,
And what then do I bring?
And when a little child is ill
I pause, and with my hand
I wave the window curtain's frill
That he may understand
Outside the wind is blowing still;
...It is a pleasant land.
O stranger in a foreign place,
See what I bring to you.
This rain--is tears upon your face;
I tell you--tell you true
I came from that forgotten place
Where once the wattle grew,--
All the wild sweetness of the flower
Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour....
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shown... and the fall
Of yellow blossom on the grass!
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(both of you tried, in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass....
It will not come again
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Beauty
Was never form and never face
So sweet to SEYD as only grace
Which did not slumber like a stone,
But hovered gleaming and was gone.
Beauty chased he everywhere,
In flame, in storm, in clouds of air.
He smote the lake to feed his eye
With the beryl beam of the broken wave;
He flung in pebbles well to hear
The moment's music which they gave.
Oft pealed for him a lofty tone
From nodding pole and belting zone.
He heard a voice none else could hear
From centred and from errant sphere.
The quaking earth did quake in rhyme,
Seas ebbed and flowed in epic chime.
In dens of passion, and pits of woe,
He saw strong Eros struggling through,
To sun the dark and solve the curse,
And beam to the bounds of the universe.
While thus to love he gave his days
In loyal worship, scorning praise,
How spread their lures for him in vain
Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain!
He thought it happier to be dead,
To die for Beauty, than live for bread.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Philosophy
I
His eyes found nothing beautiful and bright,
Nor wealth nor honour, glory nor delight,
Which he could grasp and keep with might and right.
Flowers bloomed for maidens, swords outflashed for boys,
The world's big children had their various toys;
He could not feel their sorrows and their joys.
Hills held a secret they would not unfold,
In careless scorn of him the ocean rolled,
The stars-were alien splendours high and cold.
He felt himself a king bereft of crown,
Defrauded from his birthright of renown,
Bred up in littleness with churl and clown.
II
How could he vindicate himself? His eyes,
That found not anywhere their proper prize,
Looked through and through the specious earth and skies.
They probed, and all things yielded to their probe;
They saw the void around the massy globe,
The raging fire within its flowery robe.
They pierced through beauty; saw the bones, the mesh
Of nerves and veins, the hideous raw red flesh,
Beneath the skin most delicate and fresh:
Saw Space a mist unfurled around the steep
Where plunge Time's waters to the blackest deep;
Saw Life a dream in Death's eternal sleep.
III
A certain fair form came before his sight,
Responding to him as the day to night:
To yearning, love; to cold and gloom, warm light.
A hope sprang from his breast, and fluttered far
On rainbow wings; beyond the cloudy bar,
Though very much beneath the nearest star.
His eyes drew back their beams to kindle fire
In his own heart; whose masterful desire
Scorned all beyond its aim, lower or higher.
This fire flung lustre upon grace and bloom,
Gave warmth and brightness to a little room,
Burned Thought to ashes in its fight with gloom.
IV
He said: Those eyes alone see well that view
Life's lovely surfaces of form and hue;
And not Death's entrails, looking through and through.
Bones, nerves, and veins, and flesh, are covered in
By this opaque transparency of skin,
Precisely that we should not see within.
The corpse is hid, that Death may work its vile
Corruption in black secrecy; the while
Our saddest graves with grass and fair flowers smile.
If you will analyse the bread you eat,
The water and the wine most pure and sweet,
Your stomach soon must loathe all drink and meat.
Life liveth but in Life, and doth not roam
To other realms if all be well at home:
'Solid as ocean-foam,' quoth ocean-foam.
If Midge will pine and curse its hours away
Because Midge is not Everything For-aye,
Poor Midge thus loses its one summer day;
Loses its all-and winneth what, I pray?
poem by James Thomson
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Halloween Quartet No 2 The Devils Specs
He picked up the glasses
from where they lay
and put them on
and as he looked around
his face paled with his shock.
Everything was desolate and dead.
Building stood black scorched beyond repair,
everything felt cold and dank
as if he were in a city of the dead.
The grass beneath his feet
was withered and brown.
Skeletal trees stood blackened
as if by some great fire.
The sights he saw frightened him.
He made a move to run
and tripped over a rotting corpse.
As he fell, the glasses
were tossed upon the ground.
As he rose his eyes widened,
everything was green again
and the glass were no were to be found.
Was this a vision of his future he had seen?
Only tomorrows knows.
31 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Last Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals strewn upon the grass beside her mother tree
In full bloom a thing of Nature so beautiful to see
Where the gleaners of Nature's decay grubs, slugs and insects crawl
Last week she looked so beautiful the last rose of the Fall.
So bare and thorny looking without her leaves and flowers
The rose tree looks forlorn in the cool Autumn showers
Next Summer again pink roses she will wear
The rose tree in bloom has a beauty that's rare.
The beauty of Nature is seen Worldwide
In town parks and gardens and in the countryside
And Nature herself she lives on every shore
The one destined to live forever more.
For the gleaners of Nature who live on decay
The beautiful rose petals on the grass lay
But the rose whose life span can be measured in hours
Her fate it is not any different to ours.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hymm to the Winds
To you, troop so fleet,
That with winged wandering feet,
Through the wide world pass,
And with soft murmuring
Toss the green shades of spring
In woods and grass,
Lily and violet
I give, and blossoms wet,
Roses and dew;
This branch of blushing roses,
Whose fresh bud uncloses,
Wind-flowers too.
Ah, winnow with sweet breath,
Winnow the holt and heath,
Round this retreat;
Where all the golden morn
We fan the gold o’ the corn,
In the sun’s heat.
poem by Joachim du Bellay
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My happiness within
I am on fire
The fire- Is Love
I am a burning flame
Ignited by the Divine
It is my will
It is my purpose
-My happiness within
I can only share this living bread
With others
With no expectations
It is the only way
-My happiness within
I paint this painting
With constant desire
On the Divine canvas
Of the ignited light
Bright and burning
-My happiness within
No one can destroy
My destiny call
Who ever tries
Will surly fall
-My happiness within
The fire strong
Like music plays
And river flows
No rocks will form
To black the run
No strings will break
From any harm.
-my happiness within
poem by Kasia Fedyk
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Love and Life
I.
AS some faint wisp of fragrance, floating wide—
A pennant-perfume on the evening air—
From a walled garden, flower-filled and fair,
To drape a sudden beauty long denied
Upon life's highway desolate and dried—
So come you to me, as I, unaware,
Bend my strict eyes upon my pathway bare;
But at your presence straight I turn aside,
And passing in the garden see uncurled
The heart of hidden beauty in the world,
And love as life's one blossom is revealed.
My backward glance your floating tresses blind,
About my struggling hopes your white arms wind,
And I have yielded—but how sweet to yield!
II.
Yet, in the prison of the garden bound,
The sluggish perfumes o'er my spirit fall,
And I lie languid in their sweetness' thrall,
Beneath the fragrance of much beauty drowned:
When through the fountain's murmur—lo, a sound
Insistent and reproachful! O'er the wall
Drops a faint echo of the Earth's deep call,
And I leap upright from the rose-strewn ground.
Outside the bracing wind sings, clean and chill;
Outside are tasks to do, blows to be struck;
And I must toil the dreary highway till
It broadens to the fields of death. Yet, ere
I leave for aye your perfumed close, I pluck
A shrivelled blossom that I kiss and wear.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Universe Embraces Written Souls
Turn album of memories
holds time in our hands
heart throbs paint images
we ran our souls in light
as we ran wet flow fingers
through paint breath canvas
deep colours blaze in hues
shape soul gift open flowers
we set flower sails on water
streams sparkle seed shapes
ripples ride diamond light river
celebrations perfume daylight
candles warm birth womb night
our souls hold time in serenity
star smiles illuminate light sky
pulse in glow depths time space
spreads shadows veils shimmer
black lace spreads wind ripples
beautifies bodies breath bright
beauty ripe graces eyes beholders
bliss embrace heaven sung melody
sparkle eyes thrill flash flesh radiant
blows soft whispers into comic seas
angels sing joy celebrate soul maker.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Dedicated to Unwritten Soul
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Three Unique Flowers!
Due to flowers world itself is called as flower world!
Of them lotus, rose and tulip are world renowned ones
Nobody can deny their significance anywhere anytime!
Danish renowned tulip flowers cheer all by unique beauty!
Tulip flowers of many colours have made mark in literature;
Everybody cherishes their beauty unique in Nature all time.
Rose flower, the thorny beauty of all is the queen of flowers
Everybody has an high esteem and value for rose everywhere!
It is the chosen flower uniquely cherished as a symbol of love.
Lotus flower with yellow seeds in is cherished as divine one!
It is highly esteemed as a spiritual flower for meditation most;
Spiritually valued high lotus flower has mystical significance.
If tulips are angels rose is the queen of love poets cherish
Meant to worship mystically elevating divine lotus ever fresh!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Year and a Day
Slow days have passed that make a year,
Slow hours that make a day,
Since I could take my first dear love
And kiss him the old way;
Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek,
Dear Christ, this month of May.
I lie among the tall green grass
That bends above my head
And covers up my wasted face
And folds me in its bed
Tenderly and lovingly
Like grass above the dead.
Dim phantoms of an unknown ill
Float through my tired brain;
The unformed visions of my life
Pass by in ghostly train;
Some pause to touch me on the cheek,
Some scatter tears like rain.
A shadow falls along the grass
And lingers at my feet;
A new face lies between my hands --
Dear Christ, if I could weep
Tears to shut out the summer leaves
When this new face I greet.
Still it is but the memory
Of something I have seen
In the dreamy summer weather
When the green leaves came between:
The shadow of my dear love’s face --
So far and strange it seems.
The river ever running down
Between its grassy bed,
The voices of a thousand birds
That clang above my head,
Shall bring to me a sadder dream
When this sad dream is dead.
A silence falls upon my heart
And hushes all its pain.
I stretch my hands in the long grass
And fall to sleep again,
There to lie empty of all love
Like beaten corn of grain.
poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
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Fragrance of Mother Earth
The Sun has risen in the east.
Fragrance of Mother Earth
will spread all over the world.
The fragrance of Mother Earth,
The perseverance of Mother Earth,
The consciousness of Mother Earth
and the thoughts of the land of arts,
all these will spread all over the world.
Food maintains the figure.
Oil causes smoothness.
In the lap of Mother,
abundant are the gems and precious jewels.
Dame Nature has bestowed air and water for all.
With the efforts of the human being
various kinds of crops are yielded.
Excellently charming are the rivers,
sylvan sites and brooks.
Fragrance of Mother Earth
will spread all over the world.
Summer, Rain and Winter
are the empirical experiences of this life.
We, the companions in joys and sorrows,
shall sing together the lilt of delight.
Dhol, Niś ā n and Ghumurā –
These enchanting musical instruments
encouragingly discard all dizziness.
The black-bee in the form of mind
rejoices humming over the flower
of colourful sentiments.
So marvellous and beautiful
is the creation of the Creator.
Fragrance of Mother Earth
will spread all over the world.
O Brothers and Sisters!
Wake up. With concentrative mind,
We’ll make our life blessed
by performing good deeds for the society.
Great strength is in the body of the youth.
We’ll keep the glory established
by accomplishing activities
in the path of righteousness
for the well-being of the country.
Salutations at the feet of our Mother India.
Our humble prayer at the feet
of the Mother Goddess Mā ņ ikeś warī.
Fragrance of Mother Earth will spread all over the world.
Our humble prayer at the feet of our Mother.
The thoughts of the land of arts will spread unfurled.
Fragrance of Mother Earth will spread all over the world.
poem by Harekrishna Meher
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Sketch Book
If I may,
allow thee,
stand
lay
find
your
pose.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
Charcoal
grainy
dark
smudges blending,
image
take
form.
Disrobe
do not,
remove thy cloth
woven
cotton
cover
disguise
thy body shape
curves
contours
angles.
Distraction.
Already have sketch in hand,
conjured forth,
time
and
time
again.
Thy body shape,
lies beneath,
across they clothing drape?
Still life.
Artists interpretation.
Thy beauty.
Recline,
arm at side
other over head
finger poised
chin angled toward thee
eyes at slight glance,
legs
lounging
relaxed
ankles crossed.
Nude.
Exposed.
Yes,
of course.
Anywhere you would like,
when
your
ready.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
poem by Gary Kedron
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Dust
Here is a problem, a wonder for all to see.
Look at this marvelous thing I hold in my hand!
This is a magic surprising, a mystery
Strange as a miracle, harder to understand.
What is it? Only a handful of earth: to your touch
A dry rough powder you trample beneath your feet,
Dark and lifeless; but think for a moment, how much
It hides and holds that is beautiful, bitter, or sweet.
Think of the glory of color! The red of the rose,
Green of the myriad leaves and the fields of grass,
Yellow as bright as the sun where the daffodil blows,
Purple where violets nod as the breezes pass.
Think of the manifold form, of the oak and the vine,
Nut, and fruit, and cluster, and ears of corn;
Of the anchored water-lily, a thing divine,
Unfolding its dazzling snow to the kiss of morn.
Think of the delicate perfumes borne on the gale,
Of the golden willow catkin's odor of spring,
Of the breath of the rich narcissus waxen-pale,
Of the sweet pea's flight of flowers, of the nettle's sting.
Strange that this lifeless thing gives vine, flower, tree,
Color and shape and character, fragrance too;
That the timber that builds the house, the ship for the sea,
Out of this powder its strength and its toughness drew!
That the cocoa among the palms should suck its milk
From this dry dust, while dates from the self-same soil
Summon their sweet rich fruit: that our shining silk
The mulberry leaves should yield to the worm's slow toil.
How should the poppy steal sleep from the very source
That grants to the grapevine juice that can madden or cheer?
How does the weed find food for its fabric coarse
Where the lilies proud their blossoms pure uprear?
Who shall compass or fathom God's thought profound?
We can but praise, for we may not understand;
But there's no more beautiful riddle the whole world round
Than is hid in this heap of dust I hold in my hand.
poem by Celia Thaxter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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