I HEARD them in their sadness say,
“The earth rebukes the thought of God;
We are but embers wrapped in clay
A little nobler than the sod.”
 

But I have touched the lips of clay,
Mother, thy rudest sod to me
Is thrilled with fire of hidden day,
And haunted by all mystery.

Added: May 12 2003 | Viewed: 1558 times | Comments (0)

Poet: George William Russell
Poem: 27. 27. Dust
Volume: Collected Poems by A.E.
Year: Published/Written in 1913
Poem of the Day on:
Oct 22 2004
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