Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OUT OF ANY DEARTH by LOUIS GINSBERG

First Line: TRANSMUTING ROCKS TO FLOWERS
Last Line: I WILL SIEVE MY SONGS.
Subject(s): EARTH; FLOWERS; STONES; WORLD; GRANITE; ROCKS;
Transmuting rocks to flowers,
Butterflies through the hours,
On sunlight, as they cling,
Are busy banqueting.

Brambles find no dearth
In filching fire from earth.
Lilies in the mire
Purloin colored fire,

Looting marshes, whence
They lift magnificence.
From clay a rose-bush culls
Crimson parables . . .

So, with that stratagem
Used by any stem
In salvaging treasure, which
It dredges from a ditch;

Out of any dearth
Of the bitter earth,
Out of stones and wrongs,
I will sieve my songs.



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