THOU hast thy calling to some palace-floor, Most gracious singer of high poems! where The dancers will break footing, from the care Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear To let thy music drop here unaware In folds of golden fulness at my door? Look up and see the casement broken in, The bats and owlets builders in the roof! My cricket chirps against thy mandolin. Hush, call no echo up in further proof Of desolation! there's a voice within That weeps ... as thou must sing ... alone, aloof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLOTHES by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER HYMN TO MONT BLANC [IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE HAILSTORM IN MAY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS COLUMBUS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE GROVES OF BLARNEY by RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN |