In countless upward-striving waves The moon-drawn tide-wave strives; In thousand far-transplanted grafts The parent fruit survives; So, in the new-born millions, The perfect Adam lives. Not less are summer-mornings dear To every child they wake, And each with novel life his sphere Fills for his proper sake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOLITARY REAPER by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE VIGIL OF JOSEPH by ELSA BARKER THE HALCYON BIRDS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 71 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE WHO GOES THERE? by GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN SEPTEMBER, 1939 by VERA MARY BRITTAIN OLD JOHN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |