I love such different things now I am old, Fine linens and thin china on my shelf, And silken curtains hanging fold in fold, If this be I, I do not know myself. Can this be I who was so filled with fire, So deeply and so violently attached To Life; breathless and husky with desire, Afraid that I would leave one portal latched. Can this be I? My silver maple tree Is corseted with ice and bent with sleet; I say, "This must be I," my dog knows me, But he will chase cloud-shadows down the street. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAY MAGNIFICAT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS CREDO by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IN AN ARTIST'S STUDIO by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ARIEL'S SONG (1) [OR, DIRGE] [OR, A SEA DIRGE]. FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 22. THE CELESTIAL SURGEON by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN THE GARDEN AT SWAINSTON (IN MEMORIAM - SIR JOHN SIMEON) by ALFRED TENNYSON |