THE stuff out of which a poem is wrought Is not to be suck'd from the finger; No God created the world from nought Any more than an earthly singer. 'Twas mud primeval that form'd the source Whence the body of man I created, And from the ribs of man in due course Fair woman I separated. The heavens I form'd from out of the earth, And angels from women completed; The raw material first gets its worth From being artist'cally treated. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CABOOSE THOUGHTS by CARL SANDBURG THE SAD SHEPHERD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS BOB CRUIKSHANKS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON IN PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE by PHILIP AYRES TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |