Robert Burns Wilson
James Whitcomb Riley 1849 (Greenfield) – 1916 (Indianapolis)
What intuition named thee?--Through what thrill
Of the awed soul came the command divine
Into the mother-heart, foretelling thine
Should palpitate with his whose raptures will
Sing on while daisies bloom and lavrocks trill
Their undulating ways up through the fine
Fair mists of heavenly reaches? Thy pure line
Falls as the dew of anthems, quiring still
The sweeter since the Scottish singer raised
His voice therein, and, quit of every stress
Of earthly ache and longing and despair,
Knew certainly each simple thing he praised
Was no less worthy, for its lowliness,
Than any joy of all the glory There.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 31 sec read
- 88 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABBAABBACDECDE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 599 |
Words | 104 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
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"Robert Burns Wilson" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/21015/robert-burns-wilson>.
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