To The Poet Poem by Thomas William Heney

To The Poet

Rating: 3.4


WHAT cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
Be plucked for the breast of the dead or the hands of a bride?

The mother-drift if its pebbles be dull inglorious things,
Or diamonds fit to shine from the diadems of kings?

Sing, O poet, the moods of thy moments each
Perfect to thee whatever the meaning it reach.

Let the years find if it be as a soulless stone,
Or under the words which hide there be a glory alone.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Heather Wilkins 02 July 2013

excellent write to the poet. each has his own style.

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