These fell miasmic rings of mist, with ghoulish menace bound, Like noose-horizons tightening my little world around, They still the soaring will to wing, to dance, to speed away, And fling the soul insurgent back into its shell of clay: Beneath incrusted silences, a seething Etna lies, The fire of whose furnaces may sleep—@3but never dies!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOTHWELL: PART 5 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 45. A LITTLE WHILE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE HAPPY FOOL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET HYMN OF THE WALDENSES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONNET TO - -. by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |