To clear the drifts of spring Of our forebear's excrements And bury the subconscious archives Under unaffected flowers Indeed- Our person is a covered entrance to infinity Choked with the tatters of tradition Goddesses and Young Gods Caress the sanctity of Adolescence In the shaft of the sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CORONAL by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A HILLSIDE THAW by ROBERT FROST THE TIME OF LOVE by FLORENCE E. BALDWIN THE OLD MAID by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS by JAMES BEATTIE |