Alone, remote, nor witting where I went, I found an altar builded in a dream -- A fiery place, whereof there was a gleam So swift, so searching, and so eloquent Of upward promise, that love's murmur, blent With sorrow's warning, gave but a supreme Unending impulse to that human stream Whose flood was all for the flame's fury bent. Alas! I said, -- the world is in the wrong. But the same quenchless fever of unrest That thrilled the foremost of that martyred throng Thrilled me, and I awoke . . . and was the same Bewildered insect plunging for the flame That burns, and must burn somehow for the best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES by ROBERT BURNS FORERUNNERS by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SONNET: 15. TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX by JOHN MILTON THE NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP SIDNEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JANUARY by EDMUND SPENSER SAINT AGNES' EVE by ALFRED TENNYSON LITTLE BELL by THOMAS WESTWOOD |