What eye reflect the sight Of this star-stippled night: What throat produce the words Of these night-haunted birds, Feathered, who sleep by day With silence none can say? The ripple's perfect arc, Nudging the river's glass, Astounds the huddled dark Where shadows hugely pass; Circumference none may draw. This then the body's flaw: No cool peace-perfect thing Hs sprung, nor yet may spring, And as a ripple ply These under-depths of sky Wherein I tensely stand -- Hot word and ready hand Who own -- to probe the heart Caverned from me apart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR PENMAEN POOL by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS RESIGNATION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IDLENESS by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL PARAPHRASE ON THOMAS A KEMPIS by ALEXANDER POPE BEAUREGARD by CATHERINE ANNE WARFIELD |