WHEN color, fragrance, form On the steeped sense the rose With lavish boon bestows, What is there left to give? When after leaden storm The thrush outpours the rain Of happy song again, What is there left to give? When one star, brave and warm, The sentinel of Night, Yields to the surging light, What is there left to give? My rose, my thrush, my star that goes before, What canst thou give but @3more?@1 Oh, live, live, live! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELLING HER ENGAGEMENT RING by KAREN SWENSON MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R.B. SHERIDAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ACCIDENT IN ART by RICHARD HOVEY THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION: BOOK 1 by MARK AKENSIDE AT THE LATTICE by ALFRED AUSTIN THE ENEMY by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE CHRISTMAS MORNING by RICHARD BECK A LUNCHEON (THOMAS HARDY ENTERTAINS THE PRINCE OF WALES) by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |