A little ink more or less! It surely can't matter? Even the sky and the opulent sea, The plains and the hills, aloof, Hear the uproar of all these books. But it is only a little ink more or less. What? You define me God with thee trinkets? Can my misery meal on an ordered walking Of surpliced numbskulls? And a fanfare of lights? Or even upon the measured pulpiting Of the familiar false and true? Is this God? Where, then, is hell? Show me some bastard mushroom Sprung from a pollution of blood. It is better. Where is God? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LADY OF CASTLENORE; A.D. 1700 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH RECOMPENSE by DOROTHY MOORE ALFORD THE WHEELING WORLD by JAMES ROBERT ALLEN THE POET by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM S. JOHN: THE DISCIPLE, WHOM JESUS LOVED by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |