NOT Wordsworth's genius, Pestalozzi's love, The stream have sounded of clear infancy. Baptismal waters from the Head above These babes I foster daily are to me; I dip my pitcher in these living springs And draw, from depths below, sincerity; Unsealed, mine eyes behold all outward things Arrayed in splendors of divinity. What mount of vision can with mine compare? Not Roman Jove nor yet Olympian Zeus Darted from loftier ether through bright air One spark of holier fire for human use. Glad tidings thence these angels downward bring, As at their birth the heavenly choirs do sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BELLS OF LONDON by MOTHER GOOSE MANNERLY MARGERY, MILK AND ALE by JOHN SKELTON AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON THE DEAMON LOVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MISTS by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG THE CITY: 1. VILLAGE FANTASY - THE QUEST by STIRLING BOWEN A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 14 by THOMAS CAMPION TO THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE CHARLES by THOMAS CAMPION |