A window-pane; bare boughs against the sky: How boldly intricate the branches lie! What prodigies of fancy! what a wealth Of poet color and of sculptured health! Ah, Phidias, ah, Raphael, Angelo, And all the other artist-gods we know, Poor is your best beside that lifted fane Of any bough through any window-pane. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CANTICLE OF THE RACE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE NEW APOCRYPHA: THE FIG TREE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |