Poem Lake | Page 3904 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

We see — Comparatively — We see — Comparatively — The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided — Yesterday — This Morning's finer Verdict — Makes scarcely worth the toil — A furrow — Our Cordillera —... Poet:	We send the Wave to find the Wave — We send the Wave to find the Wave — An Errand so divine, The Messenger enamored too, Forgetting to return, We make the wise distinction still, Soever made in vain, The sagest time to dam the sea is when... Poet:	We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow. We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow. Of that, there is no doubt. But the Arc of a Lover's conjecture Eludes the finding out. Poet:	We should not mind so small a flower — We should not mind so small a flower — Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again. So spicy her Carnations nod — So drunken, reel her Bees — So silver steal a hundred... Poet:
We shun because we prize her Face We shun because we prize her Face Lest sight's ineffable disgrace Our Adoration stain Poet:	We shun it ere it comes, We shun it ere it comes, Afraid of Joy, Then sue it to delay And lest it fly, Beguile it more and more — May not this be Old Suitor Heaven, Like our dismay at thee? Poet:	We talked as Girls do — We talked as Girls do — Fond, and late — We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave — Of ours, none affair — We handled Destinies, as cool — As we — Disposers — be — And God, a Quiet Party... Poet:	We talked with each other about each other We talked with each other about each other Though neither of us spoke — We were listening to the seconds' Races And the Hoofs of the Clock — Pausing in Front of our Palsied Faces Time compassion took — ... Poet:
We thirst at first — 'tis Nature's Act — We thirst at first — 'tis Nature's Act — And later — when we die — A little Water supplicate — Of fingers going by — It intimates the finer want — Whose adequate supply Is that Great Water in the... Poet:	We wear our sober Dresses when we die, We wear our sober Dresses when we die, But Summer, frilled as for a Holiday Adjourns her sigh — Poet: