The Spring blew trumpets of color;
Her Green sang in my brain --
I heard a blind man groping
"Tap -- tap" with his cane;
I pitied him in his blindness;
But can I boast, "I see"?
Perhaps there walks a spirit
Close by, who pities me, --
A spirit who hears me tapping
The five-sensed cane of mind
Amid such unguessed glories --
That I am worse than blind.
Harry Kemp's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Blind by Harry Kemp )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- When I am alone, gajanan mishra
- Off To War, Randy McClave
- Woman's right to her child, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Which make one's beauty?, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Independence Day of India 2014 (in acros.., Dr John Celes
- Bitter-Sweet Memories, Matthias Pantaleon
- Friend 2, Neela Nath
- Romantic Love, The Princess
- So move, hasmukh amathalal
- His Face, Heather Jephcott