THIS day into the fields my steps are led. I cannot heal me there! Row after row, Thousands of daisies radiantly blow. They have not brought from Heaven my daily bread! But they are like a prayer too often said. I have forgot their meaning, and I go From the cold rubric of their gold and snow, And the calm ritual, all uncomforted. I want the faces! faces! remote and pale, That surge along the city streets! The flood Of reckless ones, haggard and spent and frail, Excited, hungry! In this other mood 'T is not the words of the faith for which I ail, But to plunge in the fountain of its living blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BEGGAR MAID [AND KING COPHETUA] by ALFRED TENNYSON MELHILL FEAST by WILLIAM BARNES THE LAST MAN: BONA DE MORTUIS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES WINTER NIGHTFALL by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES HERE LIES PIERROT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LULLABY by ANNIE WILSON CHALMERS |