WHAT cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
Be plucked for the breast of the dead or the hands of a bride?
The mother-drift if its pebbles be dull inglorious things,
Or diamonds fit to shine from the diadems of kings?
Sing, O poet, the moods of thy moments each
Perfect to thee whatever the meaning it reach.
Let the years find if it be as a soulless stone,
Or under the words which hide there be a glory alone.
(Thomas William Heney)
More Poetry from Thomas William Heney:
Thomas William Heney Poems based on Topics: Success, Kings & Queens, Literature, Poets- A Riverina Road (Thomas William Heney Poems)
- The Boundary Rider (Thomas William Heney Poems)
- Absence (Thomas William Heney Poems)