CHILD, weary of thy baubles of to-day -- Child with the golden or the silver hair -- Say, how wouldst thou have built creation's stair, Hadst thou been free to have thy puny way? Could thy intelligence have shot the ray That lit the universe of upper air? Wouldst thou have bid the surging stars to dare Their glorious flight and never stop nor stay? Yet, casting on this life thy weak disdain, Thou triest to guess thy lot in loftier places, To draw the heaven of our human need; A door of rest, a flash of wings, a strain Of 'trancing music, and the long-lost faces! But, after all, what may be Heaven indeed? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: A LITANY IN TIME OF PLAGUE by THOMAS NASHE TELLING THE BEES (A COLONIAL CUSTOM) by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE FANCIES AT NAVESINK: 7 by WALT WHITMAN THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): EROS AND HIS MOTHER by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS FRIEND by MARJORIE DUGDALE ASHE THE GENTLE CHECK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE ANVIL OF SOULS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |