A poem by George William Russell

I heard them in their sadness say,
"The earth rebukes the thought of God:
We are but embers wrapt in clay
A little nobler than the sod."

But I have touched the lips of clay--
Mother, thy rudest sod to me
Is thrilled with fire of hidden day,
And haunted by all mystery.

--May 15, 1894

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Dust' by George William Russell

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy