NOT of all my eyes see, wandering on the world, Is anything a milk to the mind so, so sighs deep Poetry to it, as a tree whose boughs break in the sky. Say it is ashboughs: whether on a December day and furled Fast or they in clammyish lashtender combs creep Apart wide and new-nestle at heaven most high. They touch heaven, tabour on it; how their talons sweep The smouldering enormous winter welkin! May Mells blue and snowwhite through them, a fringe and fray Of greenery: it is old earth's groping towards the steep Heaven whom she childs us by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...H. BAPTISME (2) by GEORGE HERBERT INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN YOUTH AND KNOWLEDGE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A HYMN OF IMAGINATION by GORDON BOTTOMLEY CORNELIA'S REPLY by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |