THIS morning, as I wandered forth, I heard a man cry, "Rags and Bones!" And little children in the streets Went home for bottles, bones and rags, To barter for his toys and sweets. And then I thought of grown-up man, That in our dreams we trust a God Will think our rags and bones a boon, And give us His immortal sweets For these poor lives cast off so soon. The mind, they say, will gather strength That broods on what is hard to know: The fear of unfamiliar things Is better than their parents' love, To teach young birds to use their wings. But riddles are not made for me, My joy's in beauty, not its cause: Then give me but the open skies, And birds that sing in a green wood That's snow-bound by anemones. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON A HOUSE by JOHN COLLINGS SQUIRE DO THOU LOVE, TOO! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL BALLADE OF MYSELF AND MONSIEUR RABELAIS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) ON A LADY'S WRITING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |