MIDST a crowd disorderly Walked a dreamer, angels seeking: Then in sorrow turned away, While men ribald oaths were shrieking. Sadly then his prophet glance, Soulless void so vacant scanning, Vainly sought to find a trace Where God's breath a spark was fanning. Vapor all! He strove to slip, From the bestial throng escaping, Through the gate. A woman sat Midst the press, her pleasure taking. Vulgar sensuality From her saucy glances gazes, As, with many a coarse jest, Her cheap oranges she praises; From the goblet of sweet wine Often secretly she's tasting, And her scarlet lips to kiss All who'll pay, to give she's hasting. But what's clinging to her breast? Under dirty rags for cover, Like the golden sunlight falls Her child's curls her bosom over. Downward, upward, and beside Waves of sin and shame are meeting: See how pure and free from stain, In this child, God thee is greeting! On the brow so lily fair Sweet innocence doth peace impress, Such as only saints above Heaven's blue star-strewn vault can bless. Slowly now its eyes unclose, Wondrous azure depths unfolding: Bend thou lower, then thou canst Gaze, bliss most divine beholding. Smiles not a pure Paradise Midst these pastimes base, infernal? Where no cherubim prevents Sating thy soul with joys eternal. Pool of mire is ne'er so deep Sunbeam cannot reach with kisses; Never is there wilderness Which every green oasis misses. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE REVEALER by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE REVEILLE by FRANCIS BRET HARTE GO DOWN DEATH; A FUNERAL SERMON by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE NEW INN: A VISION OF BEAUTY by BEN JONSON THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT; GEORGE III AND A DYING WOMAN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ROBERT SOUTHEY |