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Poetry Archives

A continuing selection of classic and contemporary poems.


Theresa Helburn

I have praised many loved ones in my song,
      And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
      With empty hand.

Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
      For things unsaid;
Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme
      Their daily bread.
Online text © 1998-2016 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Little Book of Modern Verse | 1913
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