Classic Poem

Earth

O sordid clay, though foul of rotting rest,
The flower finds its sweet subdue above thee.
The rocks and pearls of sand out of it grow;
The fruit refuses dignity when ripe to eat,
Falls everywhere for thee upon the ground.
Mountains cease to fear their power.
We find the soft soil above and below
And greet the peasant by the yellow mound
That circles to the highest way, leading
A path, where brush and grave forbid
Thy stray; thus follow we the tract of trail.
The plains, that of desert seem, remind
Us of glowing, storming sand, ocean hail;
But the sea's pressure sustains beauties kind.English