I hold a song within my heart Of minor motif: tempo—slow There is a little alcove there That shelters much of woe. My soul might speak of trials sore Endured with near despair. My lips might whisper sage-like lore Gained sage-like through care. My heart is made of duckling's down The minors fall as water. My alcove can accommodate Each hope that fate may slaughter. My soul survives—a court supreme The trials come—and go My lips dare not, like pyramids Give voice to what they know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 12. MAGNA EST VERITAS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN AN ENGLISH SHELL by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON RISE, GLORIOUS CONQUEROR! RISE by MATTHEW BRIDGES SAVANNAH by ALETHEA S. BURROUGHS MUCH IN LITTLE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |