What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUT NOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMI GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS UPLANDS IN MAY by CARL SANDBURG |