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O Hunger, Hunger, I will harness thee
And make thee harrow all my spirit’s glebe.
Of old the blind bard Herve sang so sweet
He made a wolf to plow his land.
More poems by Sidney Lanier
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The Marshes of Glynn
Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven
With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven
Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs,— … -
A Sunrise Song
Young palmer sun, that to the shining sands
Pourest thy pilgrim’s tale, discoursing still
Thy silver passages of sacred lands, … -
A Ballad of Trees and the Master
Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came, … -
A Ballad of Trees and the Master
Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came, …