WHEN I shake off the outer things That, thronging, drag me fifty ways -- The busy needs, the little stings That hum about my usual days -- I come into a secret place And meet my true self, face to face. Quiet removal from the press, A breathing-room wherein the soul Knows love and love's own tenderness, And in a dream descries the goal; There wholesome thoughts and sweet confer, Like garments laid in lavender. Anew I feel that I belong -- Alien and outcast though I be -- To the great Spirit whose far song Makes an ineffable harmony; And, with a rhythm in my feet, I fare me forth my fate to greet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHRISTMAS TREES; A CHRISTMAS CIRCULAR LETTER by ROBERT FROST THE MAD MAID'S SONG by ROBERT HERRICK SORROW by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH GOING TO BED by JONATHAN SWIFT SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS by WALT WHITMAN |