Have fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear To me, no arch-especial a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell, An age is now since passed, since parted, with the reversal Of the outlawed sentence low lays him, listed to a heresy, here. Not mood in him nor meaning, proud fire pr sacred fear, Or love or pity all that sweet notes not his might nurstle: It is the forged feature finds me, it is the rehearsal Of own, of abrupt self there so thrusts on, so throngs the ear. Let him Oh! with the air of angels then lift me, lay me! only I'll Have an eye to the sakes of him, quaint moonmarks, to his pelted plumage under Wings: so some great stormfowl, whenever he has walked his while The thunder-purple seabeach plumed purple-of-thunder, If a wuthering of his palmy snow-pinions scatter a colossal smile Off him, but meaning motion fans fresh our wits with wonder. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY LIGHT WITH YOURS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DISCONTENTS IN DEVON by ROBERT HERRICK THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR by RUDYARD KIPLING THE TWO VOICES by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LITTLE REBEL by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE LITTLE OLD WOMEN by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |