IF I did seem to you no more Than to myself I seem, Not thus you would fling wide the door, And on the beggar beam! You would not don your radiant best, Or dole me more than half ! Poor palmer I, no angel guest; A shaking reed my staff ! At home, no rich fruit, hanging low, Have I for Love to pull; Only unripe things that must grow Till Autumn's maund be full! But I forsake my niggard leas, My orchard, too late hoar, And wander over lands and seas To find the Father's door. When I have reached the ancestral farm, Have clomb the steepy hill, And round me rests the Father's arm, Then think me what you will. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JONAH'S SONG, FR. MOBY DICK by HERMAN MELVILLE THE SCORPION by WILLIAM PLOMER A WOMAN'S QUESTION by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE WIDOW; SAPPHICS by ROBERT SOUTHEY EPITAPH by KENNETH SLADE ALLING FULFILLMENT by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY THE WIDOW OF GLENCOE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |