Lord, I am like to Misletoe, Which has no root, and cannot grow, Or prosper, but by that same tree It clings about; so I by Thee. What need I then to feare at all, So long as I about Thee craule? But if that Tree sho'd fall, and die, Tumble shall heav'n, and down will I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER by GEORGE CANNING LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT by GEORGE MEREDITH AN ELEGY: TO AN OLD BEAUTY by THOMAS PARNELL THE OLD BRIDGE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER THE WASPS: THE TRIAL OF THE DOG by ARISTOPHANES SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 32. 'LO! ONE CALLS' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |