A TREMBLING crest Of smoke, the winter sky Congeals to bloom, To please a poet's eye: A slender reed Arisen from some gold Recess or womb Of flame to spaces cold. Between the twigs, That for a nest are spun On flight's grey loom, A sapphire thread may run: And so between the grey, The woven boughs of trees, A little plume Of mist the poet sees: It will suffice -- Too scant a breath to name -- For him to whom It signifies a flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PRAYER IN SPRING by ROBERT FROST MY MOTHER by WILLIAM BELL SCOTT TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD by BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS THE LAST INVOCATION by WALT WHITMAN CARMEN SYLVA by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS MAGDALEN by GEORGE KENYON ASHENDON |