THE flood of utter change is loosed. A space
Is ours yet, for its coming to prepare.
Shall we build dams with cautious, clumsy care,
Or stand with idle hands and frightened face,
And so be whirled all broken from our place,
And perish with the dams we builded there?
Or shall we dig a broad, deep channel, where
Most fields may feel the flood's benign embrace?
Thus turned 'twill be a calm majestic flood
Of plenty, peace, and fertilising power,
Whose banks fresh flowers of love and joy shall deck.
Oppose it: at the inevitable hour,
Tumultuous, black with ruin, red with blood,
'Twill come--and you shall have no chance but wreck!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Choice by Edith Nesbit )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- <<< Brute Power, Abdul Wahab
- The Green Flash ll, Morgan Michaels
- AN UGLY WAR VERSUS A PRETTY PEACE, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Mosley Manor, marriam anderson
- Desire, Avinash Nair
- My Grieving Heart, Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
- The Green Flash, Morgan Michaels
- The Rough Guide to Romantic Comedy, James Thomas Miller
- Recessional, James Thomas Miller
- Poverty Streets, Darren David Weaver