I grasped a thread of silver; it cut me to the bone - I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone - I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade - And this was the bargain God had made For a little gift of speech Set a cubit higher than the common reach, A debt running on until the fool is dead. " Carve a Pater Noster to put at his head As a curse or a prayer, And leave him there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHT PIECE (2) by EDITH SITWELL A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE HEAVENS ARE OUR RIDDLE by HERBERT BATES A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 32 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NORTH WIND IN OCTOBER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE by ROBERT BURNS THE FORMER AGE (AFTER BOETHIUS) by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |