I bear a basket lined with grass;
I am so light, I am so fair,
That men must wonder as I pass
And at the basket that I bear,
Where in a newly-drawn green litter
Sweet flowers I carry,-sweets for bitter.
Lilies I shew you, lilies none,
None in Caesar's gardens blow,-
And a quince in hand,-not one
Is set upon your boughs below;
Not set, because their buds not spring;
Spring not, 'cause world is wintering.
But these were found in the East and South
Where Winter is the clime forgot.-
The dewdrop on the larkspur's mouth
O should it then be quenchèd not?
In starry water-meads they drew
These drops: which be they? stars or dew?
Had she a quince in hand? Yet gaze:
Rather it is the sizing moon.
Lo, linkèd heavens with milky ways!
That was her larkspur row.-So soon?
Sphered so fast, sweet soul?-We see
Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.
For A Picture Of St. Dorothea
Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Poem topics: green, light, moon, water, winter, world, soul, grass, fruit, fast, mouth, bitter, gaze, caesar, spring, I love you, I miss you, sweet, basket, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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