I know how poems spring up. Well water flows From some prolific century of snows. A meager distillation, hidden; found By those who unlock darkness underground And open doors of rock. And underneath The visibilities of bone and breath From some dark subterranean river of being The singers lift their silver for man's seeing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF by GEORGE MOSES HORTON PAMPINEA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH POPULARITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |