Last Love
The first flower of the spring is not so fair
Or bright, as one the ripe midsummer brings.
The first faint note the forest warbler sings
Is not as rich with feeling, or so rare
As when, full master of his art, the air
Drowns in the liquid sea of song he flings
Like silver spray from beak, and breast, and wings.
The artist's earliest effort wrought with care,
The bard's first ballad, written in his tears,
Set by his later toil seems poor and tame.
And into nothing dwindles at the test.
So with the passions of maturer years
Let those who will demand the first fond flame,
Give me the heart's last love, for that is best.
Poem by
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
More Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Last Love
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Last Love here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.