Since you have turned unkind, Then let the truth be known: We poets give our praise To any weed or stone, Or sulking bird that in The cold, sharp wind is dumb; To this, or that, or you -- Whatever's first to come. You came my way the first, When the life-force in my blood -- Coming from none knows where -- Had reached its highest flood; A time when any thing, No matter old or new, Could bring my song to birth -- Sticks, bones or rags, or you! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TYRANNICK [TYRANNIC] LOVE: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN THE KISS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD SIC VITA by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE KISS OF GOD by JOHN WHITE CHADWICK LOVE'S SIMILITUDES by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE TWO SONGS AFTER HEARING THE WAGNER STORY-BOOK: 2 by HILDA CONKLING |