Gilbert Waterhouse
I ‘ KNOW it , I know it ,
Tho ‘ seldom avow it ,
That I am a poet .
And why ? My heart sings ,
My soul springs ,
To the sky .
I’m claiming no merit ,
” Tis what I inherit-
The thrushes too share it ,
Just so .
Flowers spring ,
Birds sing ,
Winds blow .
‘ Tis nature , just nature ,
And no living creature
Is lesser or greater
By birth Than God made him ,
And laid him
On earth .
He empties or fills it ,
Sows it or tills it ,
Just as God wills it :
That done ,
He dies :
Earth and the skies
Roll on .
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is a simple and honest reflection on poetry, nature, and the fleeting nature of life. It doesn’t try to be grand or overly philosophical—it just states things as they are. The speaker acknowledges that they are a poet, not because of any conscious effort, but because it is something natural and instinctive, like a bird singing or a flower blooming. The poem suggests that poetry, like all forms of beauty and creation, is just an extension of nature itself.
The first stanza is almost playful in its declaration: *”I know it, I know it, / Tho’ seldom avow it, / That I am a poet.”* The speaker recognizes their identity as a poet but doesn’t boast about it. Instead, they compare it to an internal force—*”My heart sings, / My soul springs, / To the sky.”* Poetry, in this sense, is something involuntary. It’s an impulse, a reaction to life, rather than an achievement.
The second stanza reinforces the idea that poetry is not a personal accomplishment, but an inherited trait. The comparison to thrushes makes it clear: just as birds naturally sing, a poet naturally writes. The simplicity of *”Flowers spring, / Birds sing, / Winds blow”* drives home the point—poetry is just another expression of life, no different from the changing seasons or the instincts of animals.
The third stanza expands on this idea, rejecting any notion of superiority or inferiority among living things. The poet, the bird, the flower—none are “greater or lesser” by birth. Everything exists as it was meant to, according to nature’s design. There’s a quiet humility in this idea, a rejection of ego in favor of simply existing as one is meant to.
The final stanza brings in a more somber tone. Life is temporary, and everything is dictated by forces beyond human control. The imagery shifts from the personal to the cosmic: *”He empties or fills it, / Sows it or tills it, / Just as God wills it.”* The individual poet, like all living things, will eventually pass, but the earth and sky will continue rolling on, unchanged.
There’s something comforting in the way the poem embraces both creativity and impermanence. The poet doesn’t see their work as something grand or immortal—it’s just a natural part of living, something they were made to do. And when they are gone, life will continue, just as it always has. In the end, poetry is not about making a lasting mark but about participating in the ongoing rhythm of the world.