Resistless to the lowest task, A self-solution at the last Fulfills thy little service, hand. Regret no segment's single line; These curling fingers, like the vine, Must yield their fruited requisite, To sweep, to serve, displace, bestow; Proportionate thy strength shall grow Until the measure is complete. And that's divine, the measure set Whereof, amorphous, we beget A shapeliness, emergent form Too bright for definition; trust, It is like sun upon the dust, That gathers light from every mote. No futile labor blindly do; Hand, a spirit works in you That out of chaos called the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS [MAY 9, 1775] by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT NO MASTER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW; A MIDSUMMER LEGEND by MARY HOWITT FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A DIRGE FOR MCPHERSON; KILLED IN FRONT OF ATLANTA by HERMAN MELVILLE FLAMMONDE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HEATHER ALE: A GALLOWAY LEGEND by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 3. THE WANDERING ONE by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS |