Blessings more than I can count Are flowing from a hidden fount, Tenderly like flakes of snow They cover barren ground below. In pattern different and rare As woven with the utmost care They drape me in a woof of bliss; The weaver's hand I'd like to kiss. And blessings follow in my sleep, For then with stars I dance and leap, And when I wake without a care, I still find stardust in my hair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA by GEORGE BERKELEY THE MOTHER by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE INDIAN SUMMER (2) by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE FROGS: THE FROGS' SONG by ARISTOPHANES RENEWAL by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD |