VAIN is the wish to try rhyming it, writing it! Pen cannot weld into words what it was; Time will be squandered in toil at inditing it; Clear is the cause! Yea, 'twas too satiate with soul, too ethereal; June-morning scents of a rose-bush in flower Catch in a clap-net of hempen material; So catch that hour! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGES: 2 by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE MUSIC OF THE SEA by QUINTIN BONE THE DOUBTER'S PRAYER by ANNE BRONTE THE THUD OF THE CLODS by JULIA E. BRUMFIELD THE LAPSE OF TIME by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |