And here the hermit sat, and told his beads, And stroked his flowing locks, red as the fire, Summed up his tale of moon and sun and star: "How blest are we," he deemed, "who so comprise The essence of the whole, and of ourselves, As in a Venice flask of lucent shape, Ornate of gilt Arabic, and inscribed With Suras from Time's Koran, live and pray, More than half grateful for the glittering prize, Human existence! If I note my powers, So poor and frail a toy, the insect's prey, Itched by a berry, festered by a plum, The very air infecting my thin frame With its malarial trick, whom every day Rushes upon and hustles to the grave, Yet raised, by the great love that broods o'er all Responsive, to a height beyond all thought!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO FUNERALS: 2. by LOUIS UNTERMEYER GLADYS AND HER ISLAND; AN IMPERFECT TALE WITH DOUBTFUL MORAL by JEAN INGELOW SONNET: 104 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE LOTOS-EATERS by ALFRED TENNYSON DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |