PLOW not nor plant this arid mound. Here is no sap for seed, No ferment for your need -- Ungrateful ground! No sun can warm this spot God has forgot; No rain can penetrate Its barren slate. Demonic winds blow last year's stubble From its hard slope. Go, leave the hopeless without hope; Spare your trouble. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 112. GIBRALTAR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE DEATH-BED by SIEGFRIED SASSOON TO THE RIGHT HON! WILLIAM EARL OF DARTMOUTH by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TRAVELOGUE by EVA K. ANGLESBURG |