Explore Poems GO!

The Sign

Rating: 2.6

We are here in a wood of little beeches:
And the leaves are like black lace
Against a sky of nacre.

One bough of clear promise
Across the moon.

It is in this wise that God speaketh unto me.
He layeth hands of healing upon my flesh,
Stilling it in an eternal peace,

Until my soul reaches out myriad and infinite hands
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

7/28/2021 6:32:38 PM # 1.0.0.666