Fair Nature, has thy wisdom naught to say To cheer thy child in a disconsolate hour? Why do thy subtle hands betray their power And but half-fashioned leave thy finer clay? Upon what journeys doth thy fancy stray That weeds in thy broad garden choke the flower, And many a pilgrim harboured in thy bower A stranger came, a stranger went away? Ah, Mother, little can the soul avail Unchristened at some font of ancient love. What boots the vision if the meaning fail, When all the marvels of the skies above March to the passions they are mirrors of? If the heart pine, the very stars will pale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND [SEPTEMBER 17, 1862] by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR SONNET: 2 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ON SEEING THE SUN SHINE ... MY WINDOW FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE YEAR by LUCY AIKEN |