---

Walter de la Mare - The Scribe
Work rating: Low

What lovely things 
Thy hand hath made: 
The smooth-plumed bird 
In its emerald shade, 
The seed of the grass, 
The speck of the stone 
Which the wayfaring ant 
Stirs — and hastes on! 

Though I should sit 
By some tarn in thy hills, 
Using its ink 
As the spirit wills 
To write of Earth`s wonders, 
Its live, willed things, 
Flit would the ages 
On soundless wings 
Ere unto Z 
My pen drew nigh 
Leviathan told, 
And the honey-fly: 
And still would remain 
My wit to try — 
My worn reeds broken, 
The dark tarn dry, 
All words forgotten — 
Thou, Lord, and I.
Source
The script ran 0.002 seconds.