Poem Lake | Page 3903 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

We like March. We like March. His Shoes are Purple — He is new and high — Makes he Mud for Dog and Peddler. Makes he Forests dry. Knows the Adder Tongue his coming And presents her Spot — Stands the Sun so... Poet:	We lose — because we win — We lose — because we win — Gamblers — recollecting which Toss their dice again! Poet:	We met as Sparks — Diverging Flints We met as Sparks — Diverging Flints Sent various — scattered ways — We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze — Subsisting on the Light We bore Before We felt the Dark — A Flint unto this Day... Poet:	We miss a Kinsman more We miss a Kinsman more When warranted to see Than when withheld of Oceans From possibility A Furlong than a League Inflicts a pricklier pain, Till We, who smiled at Pyrenees — Of Parishes... Poet:
We miss Her, not because We see — We miss Her, not because We see — The Absence of an Eye — Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society As slightly as the Routes of Stars — Ourselves — asleep below — We know that their superior Eyes... Poet:	We never know how high we are We never know how high we are Till we are asked to rise And then if we are true to plan Our statures touch the skies — The Heroism we recite Would be a normal thing Did not ourselves the Cubits warp... Poet:	We never know we go when we are going — We never know we go when we are going — We jest and shut the Door — Fate — following — behind us bolts it — And we accost no more — Poet:	We outgrow love, like other things We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer — Till it an Antique fashion shows — Like Costumes Grandsires wore. Poet:
We play at Paste — We play at Paste — Till qualified, for Pearl — Then, drop the Paste — And deem ourself a fool — The Shapes — though — were similar — And our new Hands Learned Gem-Tactics — Practicing... Poet:	We pray — to Heaven — We pray — to Heaven — We prate — of Heaven — Relate — when Neighbors die — At what o'clock to heaven — they fled — Who saw them — Wherefore fly? Is Heaven a Place — a Sky — a Tree? Location's narrow... Poet: