A GLEAMING pearl lay on the strand, It seemed a beauteous one; Yet when I grasped it in my hand, 'T was but a pebble-stone. I plucked a crimson rose so fair, Fragrant as a spring morn: When on my breast I sought to wear The flow'r, 't was but a thorn. A heart, too, once was sent to me, -- I thought it glowed with love; But, bound to mine eternally, No ice could colder prove. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT DEAD by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES DEATH STANDS ABOVE ME by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE WAVING OF THE CORN by SIDNEY LANIER SONNET: 60 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 28 by ALFRED TENNYSON |