When all the seasons forming life have passed, With gifts of rain and trying times of drought, Till greybeard winter seals my sap at last And I may put no later blossoms out. Oh Lord, transplant me, not to ordered beds, Precisely made for cloister-pacing saints; Where pure and virtuous lilies raise their heads But every earthly laughter droops and faints. On Heaven's outer edge the wildflowers grow (I dreamed the place; a stream runs gaily by); It's there, dear Lord, that I would rather go, Where I may dance beneath a laughing sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON REVAMPING THE VIRGIN by KAREN SWENSON THE WOUNDED CUPID. SONG by ANACREON |