Something of the abundance of trees, of woods, of deep wells Of life too full for living—is within me. Something of power too vast for infinite grasp Something of death—too terrible To look upon— Not desiring; Something so high like migratory birds swiftly Unerringly knowing where the rushes lean Their wings shaped, their breasts glowing With purpose drawn of cabled gold To heart's madness Remotely held; Teasing days with copper allurements of altering shape; Nights crowding with brilliant schemes foregone and glory Fusing into petaled stars—the end Remembering—evermore to eye Cajoling, taunting, Threatening; Starved notes of half-strung violin are not enough. Symphonic fullness must to me—only searches The Beggar. His to find what lordliness disdained; A paradise locked hard within The soul waits freeing stroke Of wizardry. How do I know? .. Because I am the Beggar. How do I know? .. I walk in squalid rags With broidered gorgeousness beneath them. Silver soles Clinging to my sandals. I am all And Everyman Embodied. Something of the abundance of trees, of air, of deep wells Fulness of life in me— Holding in my starving breast— The Perfect ... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SICKNESS by CHARLES BUKOWSKI UPON HIS SPANIEL [SPANIELL] TRACIE by ROBERT HERRICK THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM PRAYER FOR A CITY CHILD by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH DELIVERANCE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS |