O Life, who art thou that with scarcely scanned Mysterious aspect breakest on my way, And vanishest, leaving a lump of clay As gift, as symbol, shapeless in my hand? Kindling and mute, thou gavest no command; Yet am I left as prompted to obey, With a great peril at my heart. Oh, say, Am I a creature from achievement banned? In my despair, my idle hands are cast, Are plunged into the clay: they grip, they hold, I feel them chafing on a moistened line; Unconsciously my warmth is in the cold. O Life, I am the Potter, and at last The secret of my loneliness is mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LEAVES FIRST by CARL PHILLIPS A CARELESS HEART by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE SEA-GRAVE by SARA TEASDALE PRAYERS by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING BALLADE OF DEAD ACTORS by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW DIRGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S HESITATION by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |