My Vineyard
Robert William Service 1874 – 1958
To me at night the stars are vocal.
They say: 'Your planet's oh so local!
A speck of dust in heaven's ceiling;
Your faith divine a foolish feeling.
What odds if you are chaos hurled,
Yours is a silly little world.'
For their derision, haply true,
I hate the stars, as wouldn't you?
But whether earth be great or little,
I do not care a fishwife's spittle;
I do not fret its where or why,--
Today's a day and I am I.
Serene, afar from woe and worry
I tend my vines and do not hurry.
I buss the lass and tip the bottle,
Fill up the glass and rinse my throttle.
Tomorrow though the earth should perish,
The lust of life today I cherish.
Ah no, the stars I will not curse:
Though things are bad they might be worse.
So when vast constellations shine
I drink to them in ruby wine;
For they themselves,--although it odd is,
Somehow give me a sense that God is.
Because we trust and realise
His love he steers us in the skies.
For faith however foolish can
Be mighty helpful to a man:
And as I tend my vines so He
With tenderness looks after me.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 01, 2023
- 1:03 min read
- 98 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AABBCC DDAAEE FFAAGG HHIIJJ HXKKFF |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,017 |
Words | 209 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6, 6, 6 |
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"My Vineyard" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/32315/my-vineyard>.
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