Famous Poet - Henry David Thoreau - I am a Parcel of Vain Strivings Tied

Navigation Menu

Main Menu

	Home
	Your Account
	Help & Support
	Contact US
	Search

Community

	Members Online
	E-Cards
	Surveys
	Famous Quotes
	Daily Horoscope
	Members Books
	Famous Poets

Premium Members

	Submit Poems
	Submit Stories
	My Directory
	PDF Creator
	Member Albums

Writers Corner

	Support Our Poets
	Support Our Writers
	Writer of the Month

Site Info

	Advertising
	Text Advertising
	Link Exchange
	Site Awards
	Staff Members
	Sitemap
	RSS Feeds
	Who-is-Where

Survey

Donations

Thank you for your support

Member Statistics

» Latest Member:
writingmama
» Total Members: 1407
Most ever online:
» Members: 1
» Visitors: 337
» Total: 338
Online Now
» Guest: 44
» Members: 0
» Total Online: 44
Reg Statistics
» New Today: 0
» Yesterday: 2
» Waiting Users: 8

Our Other Sites

01: Invision-Graphics
02: Blogger Talk
03: FREE Blog Directory
04: Rose DesRochers
05: Pc Windows Tips
06: Ultra Game Play
07: Affordable Web Hosting

"Partner with us", click here for details.

Home | Add a Famous Poet | Whats New | Popular Famous Poet | Top Rated Poets

Search:

Famous Poets : Henry David Thoreau : I am a Parcel of Vain Strivings Tied

I am a Parcel of Vain Strivings Tied

Posted by Orion on 18-Aug-2005

1697 people have viewed this Poet.

I am a parcel of vain strivings tied
By a chance bond together,
Dangling this way and that, their links
Were made so loose and wide,
Methinks,
For milder weather.

A bunch of violets without their roots,
And sorrel intermixed,
Encircled by a wisp of straw
Once coiled about their shoots,
The law
By which I'm fixed.

A nosegay which Time clutched from out
Those fair Elysian fields,
With weeds and broken stems, in haste,
Doth make the rabble rout
That waste
The day he yields.

And here I bloom for a short hour unseen,
Drinking my juices up,
With no root in the land
To keep my branches green,
But stand
In a bare cup.

Some tender buds were left upon my stem
In mimicry of life,
But ah! the children will not know,
Till time has withered them,
The woe
With which they're rife.

But now I see I was not plucked for naught,
And after in life's vase
Of glass set while I might survive,
But by a kind hand brought
Alive
To a strange place.

That stock thus thinned will soon redeem its hours,
And by another year,
Such as God knows, with freer air,
More fruits and fairer flowers
Will bear,
While I droop here.

Print Author |

Send to friend

4 people have rated this Poet:

9.75/10

Top 3 Poems	Top 3 Stories	Top 3 Articles
1: Sight Unseen by (Rose) 2: Gift of Forgiveness by (Shimmerfall) 3: Sparks of a Liar by (realmpoet)	1: Offshore Outsourcing Software Application Development in India by (developmentsolutions) 2: Do all Cricketers use Management Theory? by (corporatetrainerindi)	1: Big Boys Don't Kiss Their Mothers 2: A Cardboard Box for a Home 3: One Teacher Can Make a Difference

Writer of the month	Hugs and Hope
Gail Bell Baileesmom-	Austin W More Information Children we've made smile.

Web Advertising | Guitar Lesson | Looking for Credit Cards? | Debt Consolidation | Funny Jokes

Valid XHTML Strict
Design by: Invision-Graphics.com
Hosted by: VisionThisHosting.com