A maiden sat beside the sea And turned the pages wearily Of a booklet in her hand, Then threw it on the sand And sighed, " 'Tis dry as dry can be!" Again she sat upon the sand— The selfsame book was in her hand, But she feasted on the line As if it were divine, And cried, " 'Tis charming! simply grand!" What can the wondrous secret be— This metamorphic mystery? For 'twas on her finger ends, And she wrote it to her friends And even sang it to the sea. SOLUTION The lense of love had caught her eye Transforming all the pages dry To rainbow glory, for you see, The slighted author proved to be Her lover—that was why and why. MEDITATION The Book of books is in my hand, Its fame has flown to every land, And above the vengeful roar Of the storm along life's shore Rings an anthem rich and grand. Would you find a treasure when you look, A hidden flower in every nook, Till it blooms from lid to cover, While a halo hovers over? Fall in love with the Author of the Book! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGO RIVER; CONNECTING LAKE SEBAGO AND LONG LAKE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE by EDWIN ARNOLD A FRAGMENT OF AN EPIC POEM, OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS OF A GAME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE QUAKER POET; VERSES ON SEEING MYSELF SO DESIGNATED by BERNARD BARTON SUNRISE OVER THE SIERRAS by HENRY MEADE BLAND EVENING by SYLVIA HORTENSE BLISS DEAD LETTERS (T.L.H.) by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 46 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |