COME, tender sunlight of the spring, and shine Through all my thoughts; my inmost being fill, Teaching my heart to glow, and yet be still, With that victorious quiet which is thine. Oh that my hand had cunning to combine The tints wherewith thou robest copse and hill! But I, so rich in love, am poor in skill, And praise fair Truth, yet may not build her shrine. But every spirit, worshipping aright, Must glory in the gifts that others bring; So would I triumph -- not as one apart, But with the kindred throng who love the light, Joying in beauty that transcends my art, And mutely dreaming notes I cannot sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 34 by JAMES JOYCE JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH UNDER THE CEDARCROFT CHESTNUT by SIDNEY LANIER SUGGESTED BY THE COVER OF A VOLUME OF KEATS'S POEMS by AMY LOWELL |