Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PLEASURES OF CHILDHOOD, by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL Poet's Biography First Line: There is a middle place between the strong Last Line: Cities and empires, fleets and armies rose. Subject(s): Children; Childhood | ||||||||
THERE is a middle place between the strong And vigorous intellect a Newton had, And the wild ravings of insanity; Where fancy sparkles with unwearied light, Where memory's scope is boundless, and the fire Of passion kindles to a wasting flame, But will is weak, and judgment void of power. Such was the place I held; the brighter part Shone out, and caught the wonder of the great In tender childhood, while the weaker half Had all the feebleness of infancy. A thousand wildering reveries led astray My better reason, and my unguarded soul Danced like a feather on the turbid sea Of its own wild and freakish phantasies. At times the historic page would catch my eye, And rivet down my thoughts on ancient times, And mix them with the demigods of old. Again I girt my loins to cross the waste Of burning Afric, and amid the wilds Of Abyssinia seek the modest springs, Whence bubble out the waters of the Nile, The infancy of greatness -- how I loved To ascend the pyramids, and in their womb Gaze on the royal cenotaph, to sit Beneath thy ruined palaces and fanes, Balbec or princely Tadmor, though the one Lurk like a hermit in the lonely vales Of Lebanon, and the waste wilderness Embrace the other -- scouring with the wind, I swept the desert on the Arab steed, Or with the panting camel flew away. There is an ecstasy in solitude, Amid the broken images of power, The serpent, owl and jackal make their home, Or in the heart of ocean, or the sands Of Araby, or on the boundless plains Of central Asia, whence the savage Hun And Mogol in devouring torrents rushed. Armed with the rifle, tomahawk and bow, How oft I wandered through the solemn woods And tangled morasses of Florida, Or where the wave of Mississippi pours Its yet unsullied current o'er the steep Of Antony, and winds among the hills Of velvet verdure silently and slow. The philosophic page was my delight, To trace the workings of a hand unseen, In earth, in air, and ocean, and the world Of wonders, which the canopy of night Discloses twinkling on its ebon arch. These were my pleasures, and the varied forms Of animal and plant, the bird, who cuts With gliding wing the liquid air, the fly, That flutters o'er its parent pool a day, The polished shells that pave the snowy bed Of ocean, with their many hues in soft Accordance blended, like the ancient floor Wrought in Mosaic, or the sprig and flower, That smile in vale and meadow bathed in dew. These were at times my pleasures, but at times The childish part prevailed. Along the stream, That flowed in summer's mildness o'er its bed Of rounded pebbles, with its scanty wave Encircling many an islet, and its banks In bays and havens scooping, I would stray, And, dreaming, rear an empire on its shores. There cities rose, and palaces and towers Caught the first light of morning, there the fleet Lent all its snowy canvass to the wind, And bore with awful front against the foe; There armies marshaled their array, and joined In mimic slaughter, there the conquered fled -- I followed their retreat, until secure They found a refuge in their country's walls; The triumphs of the conqueror were mine, The bounds of empire widened, and the wealth Torn from the helpless hands of humbled foes: There many a childish hour was spent, the world, That moved and fretted round me, had no power To draw me from my musings, but the dream Enthralled me till it seemed reality; And when I woke, I wondered that a brook Was babbling by, and a few rods of soil, Covered with scant herbs, the arena where Cities and empires, fleets and armies rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN CHILDREN SELECTING BOOKS IN A LIBRARY by RANDALL JARRELL COME TO THE STONE ... by RANDALL JARRELL THE LOST WORLD by RANDALL JARRELL A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS IN CHILDHOOD by DONALD JUSTICE THE POET AT SEVEN by DONALD JUSTICE THE CORAL GROVE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL |
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