This grain of life, this tiny beast of dew Climbing the grass, transparent, hardly won From vegetable growth to sight and sense, Is far too small, too new To touch, save in his movement to the sun, A man's experience. His appetites, his frenzy, zeal and sin Are mysteries too invisible to guess; And yet, since on the grass he dares mount up, I hazard of his life this one surmise And claim him kin— Such as he is, there is a fear to press His vitals, measured to the hair, Agony that shall fill him like a cup, As much as he can bear, Pain fitted to his size. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOY OF WRITING by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION (A) by WILLIAM BLAKE FROM THE DARK TOWER by COUNTEE CULLEN DENIAL [OR, DENIALL] by GEORGE HERBERT HARRY PLOUGHMAN by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS BABY RUNNING BAREFOOT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE |