Still will I harvest beauty where it grows: In coloured fungus and the spotted fog Surprised on foods forgotten; in ditch and bog Filmed brilliant with irregular rainbows Of rust and oil, where half a city throws Its empty tins; and in some spongy log Whence headlong leaps the oozy emerald frog. . . And a black pupil in the green scum shows. Her the inhabiter of divers places Surmising at all doors, I push them all. Oh, you that fearful of a creaking hinge Turn back forevermore with craven faces, I tell you Beauty bears an ultrafringe Unguessed of you upon her gossamer shawl! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDYLL 1. LAMENT FOR ADONIS by BION THE WESTERN JOURNALIST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ON SEEING THE SUN SHINE ... MY WINDOW FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE YEAR by LUCY AIKEN INHERITANCE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH TO GAVIN HAMILTON, RECOMMENDING A BOY by ROBERT BURNS |