Fragment, by Amy LowellWhat is poetry? Is it a mosaic
Of colored stones which curiously are wrought
Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught
By patient labor any hue to take
And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make
Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught,
Transmuted fall in sheaves of rainbows fraught
With storied meaning for religion's sake.
Last year's A to Z post: Flash Frozen
- Back to Square None?
- Beckoned Homeward - A Sonnet Scripted for the Sacred One
- Initial Ideas: A Brainstorm Acrostic