THROW the blue ball above the little twigs of the tree-tops, And cast the yellow ball straight at the buzzing stars. All our life is a flinging of colored balls to impossible distances. And in the end what have we? A tired arm-a tip-tilted nose. Ah! Well! Give me the purple one. Wouldn't it be a fine thing if I could make it stick On top of the Methodist steeple? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUALITY OF COURAGE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET TO JOHN BROWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR FETES GALANTES: ROMANCES SANS PAROLE, SELECTION by PAUL VERLAINE GARRISON by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT YOUTH AND ART by ROBERT BROWNING |